


Swift As Eagles

by BlueMuirin



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMuirin/pseuds/BlueMuirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I have created my own purgatory," he finally concedes, and with those words, Aithne realizes that this man has become her weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Dragon Age and it's characters belong to Bioware. Only Aithne is my creation.

_9:12 Dragon Age_

 _Aithne walks along the dusty road, dragging her feet lethargically. She is tired, hot and thirsty but happy to have done well at the market and to have some coin to take home to her father. Either side of the road stretch fields of wilting crops, the result of a prolonged drought that has made it a hard summer for all the farming families in the region. The utter stillness of the late afternoon is broken by the cawing of a bird of prey. As the sun sinks down towards the horizon, the heat of the day starts to abate and Aithne picks up her pace, suddenly aware that she needs to get home before the light fades and the uneven road becomes difficult to navigate._

 _As Aithne continues on, a sense of unease encroaches upon her, and a sixth sense tells her to look behind her. She glances back along the road without breaking her stride. A man is silhouetted against the glaring light of the setting sun, but she cannot make out who it is. An unconscious fear prompts her to pick up the pace a little, aware that she is carrying a tidy sum and that she may have been noticed selling her wares at the market. She stumbles on, tired feet breaking into a brisk walk. After a few minutes a glance over her shoulder reveals that the gap between her and the stranger has closed. Intuition cuts in and Aithne breaks into a sprint. The stranger immediately breaks into a run behind her. Gripped with panic, she turns into one of the fields, hoping that she might lose her pursuer among the tall crops, but the tightly packed stems only slow her down. Before she knows it, the stranger has caught up to her and is grabbing her arm, twisting her around and pushing her to the ground. The coins fly from her pockets. Terrified, she cannot speak, but struggles wildly, earning a punch to the face as he grabs the rest of the money, scrabbling around in the dirt for coins that have already been dropped. Aithne thinks of how her family are depending on this money. Her gut knots, and despite the obvious superior strength and size of her assailant she screams and thrashes in desperation. To her amazement as well as his, a force surges within her, drawing sparks that leap from her fingers, burning his face as she claws at him. He yelps in surprise and pain and slaps her, hard. Her head spins. She cannot get up for a moment and when she does the stranger has already picked up the money and taken off across the field. She is dazed but manages to stand up, although her legs are shaking._

 _As if from a dream, another figure appears from the road. A striking man with long dark hair charges into the field on horseback. It is rare to see a horse in Ferelden, and she is mesmerized by the scene. The dark-haired man easily catches up with the thief, felling him with a single blow from horseback and then dismounting and disappearing from view as they scuffle among the long stems of the crops. After a few minutes there is silence. Aithne cannot see what is happening and so she stands, stunned and quite unable to move._

 _It seems like an eternity until the dark-haired man stands up. His gaze seeks her out and he quickly covers the distance between them. Wide eyed she waits, frozen to the spot as he approaches. When he reaches her he falls to one knee in front of her, to bring himself down to her level. She takes a stumbling step backwards, eyeing him fearfully through her tears. He fumbles for a moment and pulls a handful of coins from his pocket, holding them out to her, waiting for her to approach him. She looks at him in amazement and stifles her sobs. He tells her that he won't hurt her, that he will take her home and that she will be safe now. Moving towards him, her trembling hands accept the money. His piercing blue eyes hold hers and concern furrows his brow. He tells her that his name is Loghain. She glances towards the road and sees more men on horses, presumably waiting for him. Loghain dispatches his men to turn in the thief, lifts Aithne up onto his horse, wraps a strong arm around her and takes her the rest of the short journey home._

 _He might have berated her family for letting a 10 year old girl be out alone so far from home, but when he sees that her father is blind, he understands the desperation that has driven them to this. For a fleeting moment his gaze rests upon her, his hand strokes her hair and then he mounts his steed and is gone._

 _It will be 18 years before Aithne sees Loghain Mac Tir again._


	2. Realization

_9:30 Dragon Age_

"The king's forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here. This Blight must be stopped here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall." Duncan turns to look at Aithne as he speaks, his steely gaze lending her strength. They walk onwards, through the soldiers encampments, approaching the tents of the generals, mages and of the Kings entourage.

Upon entering the upper level of the encampment they are spotted by a strikingly handsome blonde man, resplendent in gold and black armor.

"Duncan!" the king greets him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"King Cailan," Duncan replies, "I wasn't expecting…"

"A royal welcome?" Cailan finishes for him. "The other Wardens told me you'd found a valuable new recruit, is this she?"

"Allow me to introduce you, your majesty."

"No need, Duncan." Cailan turns to Aithne and holds out his hand. "They tell me you are Aithne, that the Circle recommended you as one of their most talented magi. We are very glad of your assistance. "

As they speak Cailan sees Loghain's entourage and calls him over.

Common sense tells her that the childhood encounter that she remembers so vividly was pivotal only to her and she should not expect Loghain to have any recollection of it. The moment she sees him she is taken back to that day, the last time she felt truly vulnerable. Her heart cries with joy to see him again. Their eyes meet and although she wants to speak, her throat closes up and she cannot. Loghain's eyes, however, do not register any recognition. He simply greets her. Pleased to see the perfunctory introductions completed, Cailan moves Duncan to one side to talk.

As Loghain turns to leave he says "Don't let anyone tell you that you don't belong. The first Warden Maric brought to Ferelden was a woman, the finest warrior I have ever met."

After a moment of pause, that serves to emphasize his words, he turns and leaves.

* * *

Loghain has the senior commanders in the ruin that comprises his war room, all clamoring to be heard. Through the crossfire of opinions and arguments, he notices that when Aithne speaks, it is as though they are alone in the room. Loghain finds it both irritating and intriguing that she manages to distract him with no effort at all.

"Enough," he finally bellows, to all present, "we have the makings of a plan but the king and I need to discuss some of the finer points - tomorrow. For now, we are done here."

The last to leave, Aithne hesitates.

"Is there something you wish to discuss?" enquires Loghain, and she nods slightly by way of a response.

"Only that we've met before" she replies, "eighteen years ago. I wonder if you remember it?"

Loghain stares blankly at her. Then, shaking himself from the stupor he gestures to her with a brusk wave of his hand, indicating that she should take a seat; another wave and he has a bottle of wine brought over. He sits down and takes a long drink, then he relaxes back into the chair and she finds herself caught in his appraising gaze. She follows suit, as he obviously expects. She takes the drink proffered and explains.

Loghain listens patiently, raises an eyebrow when he realizes who she is and then he sits back with a solemn nod, finally commenting

"You are, I think, just a little younger than my daughter, I couldn't stand by and let it pass. And now you have returned to help me. Fate has rewarded me for a long-forgotten kindness I suppose, and here I was thinking that fate is persistently and relentlessly cruel. "

"I could hardly believe it when I learned that I had been saved by the Hero of River Dane." she says. And then she is not sure whether to say anything more, whether to stay or leave.

"And now you meet me again, perhaps I am not quite the figure you remember? Try not to be too disappointed." Loghain continues, expressionless. He stands, indicating that this audience is over.

"Disappointed? Not at all, " she says, and thinks, yo _u are far more than I remembered, or ever dreamed you would be_.

* * *

Duncan and Loghain teach the troops all they know of the darkspawn; relate the strengths and weaknesses of the enemies that so few others have encountered. Afterwards, they allow the soldiers beer and spirits, a common practice to lift morale and calm nerves, to make the waiting easier.

As usual Loghain is sitting close to Ser Cauthrien. Aithne wonders if they are lovers, there have been rumors of such a relationship. She imagines him wrapped in Cauthrien's arms, and then wishes she had not thought of it. When he glances over and catches her looking at him she feels a flush of warmth rush through her. She redirects her gaze to her feet, and is surprised when, a moment later, his feet appear next to hers.

Not one for talking, he has simply come to convey some important piece of information. She jumps upon the opportunity to ask him some questions, drawing from him some of his experiences in the Deep Roads. As he replies she hears the words go by but she is hardly listening. She studies his face, etched by a life of violence, hardship and heartache, and longs to touch him. He sees a flicker of something in her expression and arches an eyebrow in response.

He knows.

As everyone retires, Loghain considers the impulse to make something of this, here and now. But this is not his way. Nothing is ever done lightly and forming an attachment now would weaken him when he must be strong, _and she is so much younger_ …. He laughs inwardly at himself and lets the idea go.


	3. Connection

Alistair provides sweet blessed relief from the dark souls around her and she is thankful for his company. She sees a wavering commitment in Jory and this does not bode well. Daveth is darker, moody. He comes to her one night, with a skin full of wine, and tries to sweet talk her into a dalliance, but she rebuffs him crossly, annoyed that he is not Loghain.

Seeking escape from Daveth's persistence, she walks away from their little cluster of tents, intent on securing a moment of peace and quiet. As though she'd wished him into being, Loghain appears, right before her in the darkness. While she cannot clearly see his face, his form and presence are unmistakable. She continues walking, but slows down, catches his gaze as they pass, then she realizes he is talking to her.

"Are you sure you want to join the Wardens?" his gravelly voice sounds tired as he speaks. "You can fight with us without becoming a Grey Warden," he continues, each word enunciated slowly and clearly, as if she might have trouble understanding this simple truth.

"But there are so few Wardens left. I can't let Duncan down. They desperately need new recruits. " She says.

"Or conscripts." he says grimly. "Do you think Duncan joined the Grey willingly? Why don't you ask him about how he came to the order before you let him put you through the ritual? I must warn you, the Joining is very dangerous."

"I made my choice when I agreed to accompany Duncan here. This is now my duty, for Ferelden," Aithne replies.

He hears in that the echo of his own voice, all those long years ago.

"I would not see you wake every day hereafter, your heart heavy with crushing regret for the choice that you have made," he says in a low voice.

"Do you speak of my choice, or one of your own?" she asks. But he has not spoken of his choice for so long that he cannot even bring the words to his lips.

Instead he sighs. " I've chased half way across Ferelden following the whims of Grey Wardens, and for what? Nothing they have done was able to avert this confrontation. I need warriors, mages, nothing more or less."

"Duncan tells me that this battle cannot be won without Grey Wardens," she says evenly.

He laughs then, a laugh of contempt and incredulity as he turns to leave.

* * *

She thinks she will never get used to the roar of battle, the chaos of bodies, armor and weapons that make it difficult to separate friend from foe. However, facing some of the enemy is almost welcome, compared to the endless anticipation. Afterwards, Wynne attends to the seriously wounded soldiers and Duncan sends Aithne to Loghain.

Loghain dismisses her attempt to examine him with a brush of his hand. Ignoring this, Aithne goes to help him remove his armor, but he grasps her hand instead. Catching her in his gaze, he holds her wrist firmly and there they are, locked into a battle of wills. She steps away from him, raising her hands as if to show her withdrawal of any attempt to help him out of the armor, but she does not leave. Long moments pass in silence. Loghain frowns and then he turns to her again and nods his consent. She undoes the straps of his armor and this time he does not stop her. He pales as she removes the breast plate and she realizes that he is seriously injured.

"Where are you hurt?" she asks.

"I think I have broken a few ribs," he grunts, closing his eyes momentarily as pain shoots through him again.

"Let me see," she says softly, and pulls up his tunic with gentle hands. The right side of his ribcage is already purple with a severe bruise and he has a deep cut across his waist.

"This won't take long," she promises. She runs her soft fingers gently across his skin, tracing each rib with a featherlight touch and as each fracture is located, he feels a pressure, a warmth and then relief. She is conscious of the fact that his eyes follow her face as she tends to his wounds, and that he is simmering with tension. She cleans the surface of his wounds and applies a poultice to complement the healing magic. She runs her fingers across his shoulders, down his arms, and then across his taut stomach, feeling for any further internal damage. He breathes in deeply and shifts uncomfortably, turning away from her, but not before she sees the unmistakable evidence of his arousal. She brings her hand up to his jaw and turns his face to her.

"You can leave now," he says, expressionless.

She lets go of him. "As you wish," she says dryly. He does not reply.

After a moment she picks up her things and turns to go, and at the last possible second he is suddenly behind her, grabbing her arm and turning her around.

"I've been concerned," he starts, "…that you are younger than my daughter."

And just like that, the unspoken tension between them is addressed.

He leans in to touch her lips gently with his own. A soft and fleeting kiss, as if to test his own response. He draws back and their eyes met again, those piercing blue eyes captivate her. Loghain looks at her for several long silent moments, appraising her warm brown hair and lithe form. He draws her in again, this time with some force. His lips part, his tongue is caressing hers and she wonders how she had ever doubted his interest in her. She runs her fingers along his jaw and cheek, working her hands back into his hair. He pulls back for a moment to look at her, then, taking her hands, guides her back towards his low bed, pulling her on top of him as he lies back onto it. She feels intoxicated, almost breathless as he kisses her with greater intensity.

"Loghain, those injuries are not fully healed yet," she says, "be careful, slow down."

"I…cannot," he murmurs. One of his strong hands grasps her wrist, holding it above her head as he rolls his weight onto her. Breathing deeply, he has her pinned to the bed.

"Loghain," she utters his name softly again and he responds with his mouth and with his body.

His hands loosen her robes and then he is caressing her body with both hands and mouth, working down across her torso. She turns him onto his back and runs kisses across his taut stomach, tracing her hands and mouth around his most erogenous zones. Then he has had enough of teasing and is on top of her again. His fingers are inside her, making her gasp and accelerating the pace of their lovemaking to the point where he can hold back no longer. He takes her in one swift movement, burying himself deep inside of her. Wrapping her legs around him she pulls him in. Every time she utters his name he groans and thrusts hard into her, using his fingers to stimulate her response. He pulls back to look at her again and he is lost, spilling himself into her with a low moan, and she follows a moment later.

They lay in the warmth of his bed until he falls asleep. She gathers her robes and leaves, denying him the opportunity for any regretful words.


	4. Flaws and Vulnerability

There are always guards at the entrance to Loghain's tent. Aithne has to be announced and accepted before she can see him and this emphasizes the disparity of their stations. She finds him studying documents by candlelight, deep in conversation with Ser Cauthrien. He stands to greet her and says something to Cauthrien under his breath. Cauthrien nods slightly, straightens her posture and leaves.

Loghain has thought through how this will go. He is afraid of being drawn in, of being distracted. He intends to tell her that this should not continue. Being near her again, his body is already betraying him. He knows that if he hesitates much longer then he will be lost. He braces himself to say the words.

She senses his mood and puts her hand up in a halting gesture that clearly means to stop him uttering the words she does not wish to hear.

She says, " _This_ \- makes everything else go away."

And he realizes it is true. With her, he can escape from _himself_ for a time.

He crosses the distance between them in a single stride, then falls to his knees, wraps his arms around her hips and presses his face into her stomach. She pulls him in, fingers tangled in his soft dark hair. He takes one of her hands and presses his lips into her palm, then looks up at her with fire in his eyes. He pulls her down beside him, running his hands over her face, dragging his thumb over her lips and easing it into her mouth where she caresses it with her tongue. He kisses her, hot and savage as he unclasps her robes, then pulls back and dispenses quickly with his own clothes.

He pushes her back onto the bed then sits astride her. Watching the swollen head of his erection slide between her lips is almost too much for his self control and he dare not let her please him this way for too long. He turns her around and pushes her face-down onto the bed. He pulls her hair aside roughly with one hand, the other slips between her body and the bed, pulling on her nipples. He kisses her exposed neck passionately, leaving angry red marks. He is breathing hard and fast as he presses his enormous erection against the back of her legs. His hand slides between her thighs into her wetness, and then moves against her knot of nerve endings. In a moment he is inside her. With each thrust she moans with pleasure, urging him on. In response to her writhing, the movement of his fingers picks up the pace. As she reaches the height of her pleasure she utters a loud groan. She feels his body stiffen in response to hers, and then release in a trembling climax.

And thus it is between them: to Aithne, a half-fulfilled fantasy; to Loghain, a half-tortured attempt to release his heart from three decades of imprisonment.

* * *

There is disquiet within the camp. Loghain is shouting and Cailan responds with sharp words and angry gestures. Once the king has left, Loghain dismisses his aides angrily, throws his sword across the tent, then his armor follows in pieces before he sits down heavily.

She hesitates, to let his temper diffuse before she approaches him.

When she is within earshot, he says, "And now I also have to deal with Cailan's naivety," as if he and Aithne had been in the middle of a conversation.

"You mean the fact he underestimates the darkspawn threat?" she says.

"That, of course, but I also have reason to suspect that he is trying to form an alliance with the Orlesians."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Aithne says. "Our nations should be united against the blight."

"Nooooo!" he roars. "Have you _no_ idea what happened 30 years ago? The Orlesians overran Ferelden, putting decent folk out of their homes, stealing our lands, raping our women! They can never be trusted."

"Don't be ridiculous," she retorts, "it will take all of us together to defeat the blight."

Loghain is furious. He backs her up against the table and she pushes him back roughly. He grabs her hands in his own and holds them so tightly that he is hurting her wrists. He speaks then, in a disconcertingly quiet tone, "Ridiculous, am I?"

She wrests her hands free but he grabs them again and now he won't let her go. She moves to slap him but he is too strong for her and has her pinned against the table. He holds her there for an eternity, breathing heavily into her neck. When he pulls back to release her she is angry and slaps him, hard. He recoils in surprise, then sits down heavily, turning away from her.

"The Orlesians killed my mother," he says, so quietly she can barely hear him. "They raped her first, and then they killed her. They made me watch." He closes his eyes and clenches his fists, digging his nails into his palms.

There are no words of comfort for such a thing. She moves to his side and holds him silently. When he opens his eyes they are wet with tears. She feels a tightness grip her heart. She sees his flaws, but also his vulnerability, and she is drawn in.


	5. Purgatory

Nausea overwhelms her and a wave of darkness sweeps over her. Her vision swims and her field of view narrows down to a tunnel of red light that wavers before her, overlaid with flashing images of darkspawn running toward her, weapons raised. She drops to her knees and then she finds that she is floating above her body, looking down on it. With detached indifference she watches her body crumple to the ground, twitching spasmodically for a few long moments. She wonders if she is dead, she has no physical sensation at all. She sees Alistair kneel beside her prostrate form, lift her head onto his knees and take her limp hand in his. Everything unfolds below her in slow motion. Then all her senses are back with a rush of searing pain across her temples. Images of Alistair and Duncan gesturing and talking incredibly fast now flash before her eyes. Then she is looking up at Alistair's face. For a moment the bright sun behind him creates a shimmer of light like a halo around his head. She realizes in that moment that she has survived the Joining, that she is now a Grey Warden.

The most immediate change is the onset of insatiable hunger. It is embarrassing, until Alistair laughingly confesses it to be an inevitable consequence of the Joining; he reassures her that this will fade with time. What she tells no-one is of her increased desire for Loghain. The night brings vivid fantasies of his muscular body, his hands upon her, his soft mouth on hers. She awakes in a sweat, looking around for him as if she cannot believe the dream was not real.

She finds him alone in his tent. He sits, his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

"It is done then," he says, flatly.

She looks at him blankly.

"You are a Grey Warden now?"

Somehow, he knows.

"Oh…yes," she replies.

And then there is silence, a heavy air of disappointment hangs over him.

He lifts his head and looks at her. His face is unreadable. She sits in front of him and takes his hand, large and calloused, in her own. She runs her thumb across his palm and up the soft inside of his arm. Even this simple touch sets her blood pulsing with a hunger for more. _This is a gift of the taint then, to feel more alive, with every sensation enhanced._

He is exhausted but she takes what he has left, tearing his clothes from him, clawing at his back and pulling on his hair as she kisses him fiercely. He is inflamed by her intensity, he feels as though he has never been able to be unrestrained with a woman before. He is not gentle and she does not want him to be.

And thus they come to an understanding. She blames her appetites on the taint, and he…he has been without a woman for too long. He allows it to continue because she asks him for nothing more and pretends not to notice when he is distant and detached.

Sometimes it is this way with difficult men: no matter what - she has to have him, convincing herself that she still sees the good man glimpsed in her youth, twisted by life and loss.

* * *

"I have created my own purgatory," he finally concedes.

He tells of how, in the foolishness of youth, he gave up Rowan. The shadow of that choice is still heavy about him; he will never be free of it. Aithne accepts what he has done and who he is, and he realizes that he has underestimated her.

After weeks of waiting and preparing, the eve of the battle is upon them. They lay in silence for a long time, her head resting against his chest. His hand strokes her hair _and for a moment she is 10 years old again, standing outside her fathers house, watching him turn and leave._

He sits up, moves apart from her and takes her hands in his own, his downcast gaze is ominous and she is full of apprehension.

"Aithne," his voice cracks, "I've spoken to Duncan. You and Alistair… you'll be in the tower of Ishal tomorrow. You can see the lay of the land, see how the battle evolves. We need you to light the beacon to signal when my troops should come around and flank the horde. If things turn against us, you have a chance from there, a chance to get away and save yourself."

"Ishal! Duncan is wasting me up in the tower?" she hisses, releasing his hand and standing up. "And what, _save myself?_ You think I'd run out on you all? You insult me Loghain. How could you think I would leave without knowing your fate, and that of Duncan, Cailan, Alistair?" She took a deep breath. "Because you say this for fear of my safety then I'll forgive you this once. _Once_ Loghain! "

He says wearily, "You don't know yet what hard choices sometimes have to be made."

"You don't want me on the battlefield with you then?" she says quietly. "That's where I can do the most…"

"It's not your decision," he says, with finality.

She runs her hand through his hair, as she often does. But he looks back at her with pain in his eyes and softly shakes his head.

"I can't…," he says. "I need to prepare myself. I need you to leave me alone now."

She takes one last look at him, etching every line of his face into her soul.

"This is not goodbye Loghain," she says.

But it may be, and they both know it.

He sits alone in the darkness for a very long time. He's faced too much and he's lost too much. He wonders whether he has lost his humanity entirely, for now he can neither love nor weep nor think.

* * *

 _Her dreams that last night are the worst she's ever had. Darkspawn are everywhere, she is suffocating under them, fighting to get her head above the thronging mass. She sees Loghain's face across the battlefield. He sees her struggling, outnumbered. He sees her, turns his face and walks away._


	6. Hard Choices

Her blood is pounding through her veins in response to the horde. A part of her knows instinctively that the battle is lost already.

She thinks of Loghain and of Duncan and she cannot breathe. Everything is unfolding in slow motion. She stumbles and turns. Alistair is right behind her, grim faced. _He knows it too,_ she can see it in his eyes.

"Move it, soldier!", he barks. Heart pounding, she continues upwards to the top of the tower. They run to the ramparts and the scene that meets their eyes is a horror to behold. The clank of weapons, shrieking missile spells, flames and the screams of men combine into a thunderous din. Dirty plumes of smoke rise up around them, mixing ash with the stench of death. The darkspawn numbers are far more than they had guessed and too many for their forces to defeat.

Alistair lights the beacon anyway. "Loghain … pull ... around … get Cailan and Duncan out." Aithne can barely hear him above the roar.

Unbidden, images flash before her eyes: _Loghain - his hand upon her hair, pressing kisses into her palm, pulling her down onto him…_

He is down there somewhere. She cannot bear it, she has to get to him. She tears back down the stairs, almost missing her footing several times. She turns onto the lowest level and slams into a soldier. They both reel from the impact and then he grabs her arm.

"Warden," he says urgently, then seeing her try to shake off his arm, " _Warden!_ Loghain has pulled his troops out. Don't go down there, it would be suicide."

Wild eyed she turns to him. She hears the words but she does not believe them. She looks across the long bridge toward the battlefield. This cannot be real.

She hears it again, "Loghain has deserted us. We're all lost. " This time it is directed to Alistair.

 _No. No! Loghain. Her Loghain… What are they saying? He wouldn't desert them. He wouldn't desert her. She cannot believe it. He wouldn't leave her to die._

Screaming denial overwhelms her senses, but her body knows the truth of it, responding with heaving waves of nausea and retching that bring her to her knees as the carnage spins out of control around her. Again and again her stomach heaves until there is nothing left inside her. Her body and her soul are empty. She feels faint and starts to shake. Then Alistair is beside her, lifting her from the ground, pulling her out of the line of fire.

 _"You don't know yet what hard choices sometimes have to be made."_

"Aithne! Behind me. Behind me!" Alistair is yelling and she comes back to the present with a snap. Alistair is trying to shield her so she can cast something, anything. Through the roiling clouds of smoke she sees that darkspawn are closing in from both sides now.

Her disbelief turns to _fury_ : it boils in her veins, coalesces as a shimmering ball of fire between her hands and is cast into the heart of the approaching darkspawn. Again and again she casts, obliterating rank after rank of the enemy, but there are always more. Even fury cannot fuel her forever. When she has nothing left, she raises her staff high and turns to face them, hundreds strong, sweeping down the bridge from both sides.

Again, she thinks of Loghain _, his strong arms around her, his eyes wet with tears …_

And then: _trust no-one._

She looks to Alistair and their eyes meet in a silent goodbye.

She opens her arms wide and throws her head back to embrace the onslaught.


	7. This Frontier of Trouble

_"All wars end; even this war will some day end, and the ruins will be rebuilt and the field full of death will grow food, and all this frontier of trouble will be forgotten. When the trenches are filled in and the plough has gone over them, the ground will not long keep the look of war. One summer with its flowers will cover most of the ruin that man can make "_

 _("The Old Front Line", John Masefield,1917, New York, The MacMillan Company.)_

Aithne and Alistair look down upon the battlefield, as silent as the scene before them. It is far to soon to face this place again, but they have their goodbyes to say, their dead to bury.

They are the only wardens to have survived the massacre, pulled from the maelstrom by the great archmage Flemeth.

Long moments pass before they are ready to descend on to the battlefield. The horror of this quiet devastation underlines their momentous sense of loss. They see much that they will never speak of, even between themselves.

Darkspawn have desecrated Calian's body. They retrieve him and cremate his remains, standing in silent memorial until it is done. They felt it in their blood when Duncan fell but they cannot find his body and she has to force Alistair to stop looking. He is inconsolable. For her own losses, Aithne can only wish for the release of tears.

* * *

Flemeth watches the wardens with an analytical eye, but if she understands the depth of their despair, she gives no sign. The archmage's powers are astounding:at Ostagar they had been close to death when Flemeth had swept in to rescue them, legions of darkspawn collapsing in waves of mass paralysis either side of her. Flemeth had told them Duncan and Cailan were dead, that they had fallen before she could get to them.

Now they speak only of what must be done, of the gathering of armies and the strengthening of their skills to face down the archdemon. There is much that Flemeth can teach Aithne, and she is hungry for this knowledge. They ask Flemeth why she will not be the one to face the archdemon, as she is more powerful than anyone they have ever known. Flemeth tells them that only a Grey Warden can defeat the archdemon, but, as was the case with Duncan, she will not elaborate.

Some days later, when it comes to their departure, it is as much a surprise to Morrigan as it is to the wardens that Flemeth offers up her daughter to accompany them. Alistair shifts uncomfortably; he and Morrigan do not share the same sensibilities and he would rather take their chances without her. However, Aithne nods acceptance, and in that moment of decisiveness, she takes the mantle of leadership.

* * *

Alistair's grief is a terrible thing to behold. Aithne worries about him for he hardly sleeps or eats. She forces him to carry on, hoping that the task ahead of them will restore to him a sense of purpose.

They head onto the Imperial Highway. Passing Ostagar again, they happen upon a young Mabari hound, badly injured and clinging to life. Aithne heals the dog, but it is Alistair that the dog imprints on. They name him Kyran. Aithne hopes the dog will bring Alistair out of his despair, but he has turned his thoughts in on themselves and is uncaring about the animal.

On the third day, she decides to give him a sleeping draft. She finds him sitting, his arms wrapped around his legs, on the rocky shore of the lake next to their camp. His gaze takes in everything and nothing at the same time. She is certain he has noticed her approach, but he does not acknowledge her.

After a time, she ventures a few words. "I will always remember his courage, and the bond that united us in life."

He looks up at her, but his reply catches in his throat. She sees him purse his lips, fighting for composure.

She sits down next to him, slipping her arm through his and leaning on him in silent comfort. It is a long time before he can speak.

"I know he's gone. _I know it._ But then I keep expecting him to show up. I keep finding myself looking for him." His voice catches with emotion. " If only I'd been down there with him this might not have happened. I can't stop thinking about it. I feel as though I am losing my mind."

She takes his hand and rubs her thumb along his in silent comfort.

He takes a deep breath and swallows hard. "My parents didn't want me. As a child I was passed around, first to Arl Eamon and then to the Chantry. Duncan took me away from all that, he was like a father to me. "

Saying the words breaks him. He weeps, uncontrollable sobs that tear at her heart. She pulls him in to her chest and rocks him gently until he is calm again.

"I wanted to give him a decent burial," his says, his voice soft and quiet.

"Wherever his body is, _he_ is not there, Alistair. He is alive in our hearts and in our memories, honor him now by finishing the job that he gave his life for."

"I know he'd want that, " he paused, "but I don't even know how to get through the rest of the day. I wish I had at least a token to remember him by. I'm sorry Aithne, you need me to be strong, but I have nothing left."

"Even this war will someday end... when all of this is behind us, we'll build a monument to his sacrifice," she says.

Finally, she has reached into the emptiness and given him something to hold on to.

 _But her pain cannot be spoken of with Alistair. Her pain is undeserving of comfort or sympathy and it festers inside her heart._

* * *

On the fifth day Aithne finds Alistair sitting near the campfire, contemplating Maric's sword, set before him on the ground.

"You should use that sword, and Cailan's armor. They're far superior to your Templar accoutrements." she says.

He looks up at her with a worried countenance.

"There's something I haven't told you," he says. "There's no easy way to say it, so I'll just be straight with you. My natural father was King Maric, Cailan was my half brother, although he didn't know it. " He sighs. "Arl Eamon told me that Maric slept with some low-born woman and so I was an embarrassment, a threat to his legitimate heir, so he sent me away. I never knew Maric, I hardly knew Cailan. "

"So you're a bastard prince then?" She replies, with a tone of amusement.

"Well that's one way of putting it," he says, with the slightest of smiles.

"All the more fitting that you should bear your fathers sword and your brothers armor then," she says. "More importantly though, you're a contender for the throne."

" I have no aspirations to the throne but everyone will assume that I do. Cailan's widow is Loghain's daughter Anora, so I expect Loghain to back her claim to the throne. They will see me as a threat. Loghain may try to dispense with me, with all of us. I had to warn you."

Her heart turns cold. She had not thought of it until this moment: it may fall to her to stop Loghain.

 _She should tell Alistair everything, but she cannot answer the questions he will have, so she stays silent._


	8. Comfort and Consequence

Aithne exists in that place between love and hate, known only to the betrayed.

Her head is full of anger, but her body cannot let go. Loghain knew her dark desires like no other lover, and she longs for him still.

There are moments of reflection where she makes excuses for him, for what he did; at other times she is taken with a fit of fury that he did not try to save her. Always though, her thoughts come back to that young man who was kind to her so long ago, and she cannot completely hate him.

The nights are difficult: alone in her tent she is afraid to sleep. Memories of Ostagar torment her dreams. Sleep holds the faces of fallen comrades, the screams of dying men, and those long moments on the bridge with Alistair when they thought they would surely die. In other dreams her life force slips away as Loghain walks away from her. Some mornings she awakens to uncontrollable shaking. She hides this from Alistair and Morrigan, fearing that they will lose confidence in her if they glimpse her weakness. After some skirmishes on the road when she is too tired to cast her spells, Aithne realizes she cannot go on like this. She gives in to an easy solution. She is a skilled herbalist: it is a simple but somehow shameful thing to release herself from her nightmares.

She takes the potion.

It's effect starts simply as a distant sound, like a gentle ringing in her ears. Her heart seems to slow down, it is not painful, but instills in her a sense of peace and relaxation. The ringing abates and all the sounds of the night fade into the distance. A warmth starts deep in her stomach, and spreads across her body, numbing her limbs. She feels as though her body is floating gently above the ground, touching nothing, safe and well. And in this state, her mind borrows selectively from her life.

 _Loghain comes running to her from the battlefield. She pulls the gauntlets from his hands and presses his fingers against her mouth. He takes her face in his hands and traces her lips with his fingers. She drinks him in, his blue eyes on hers, and he is the man she wants him to be, a man who loves her._

* * *

The long days of traveling offer too much time for introspection and she is glad when they arrive at Lothering. They need to earn some coin and secure supplies, but they are tired and decide to settle into a tavern for the evening. The wine and warm fire offer a welcome change of pace. Aithne listens to the familiar exchange of barbs between Morrigan and Alistair, while her drowsy eyes wander around the busy room. Gaps open and close in the throng of patrons and for a fleeting second she thinks she catches a glimpse of a familiar face. She cannot place him until he stands, and then she remembers. Artair is one of Loghain's men. Heart pounding she quickly scans the room, but of course _he_ is not here - _he_ would never be in a place such as this. Now Artair has seen her and is pushing his way through the crowds to reach her. Alistair's fingers wrap around the hilt of his sword. Artair holds out his empty hands to show that he means them no harm, and gestures to Aithne, indicating that he wishes to speak with her.

"Artair, what are you doing here?"

"Loghain is on the road to Denerim, we are bringing up the rear with supplies and new recruits."

Twice, she bites the question back from her lips, but then she has to know...

"Did Loghain return to Ostagar after the battle?"

"No…"

A shadow falls across her face.

"...but I have to tell you, he seeks news of you. "

 _It is not enough._

"Tell him I am dead."

* * *

They leave Lothering a few days later. Alistair questions the sanity of the chantry sister who believes she has a calling to help end the blight, but Leliana also makes him laugh and for that alone Aithne would be willing to recruit her. By some miracle Leliana has managed to persuade the chantry to release a powerful Qunari warrior into her custody to fight alongside them: Sten competes with Morrigan for the title of most disagreeable party member.

In the weeks that follow, they settle into a kind of rhythm. Aithne and Alistair always walk together, with Kyran at their side. They have a comfortable relationship, and he looks upon her with smiling eyes, and a growing affection. Sten and Morrigan form the rear guard. Leliana likes to flit between the two groups, enjoying Sten and Morrigan's caustic banter almost as much as Alistair's gentle sense of humor.

They come across a caravan of traders, and there are rumors of Loghain forming an alliance with Arl Howe and other nobles, presumably to secure their support for Anora's claim to the throne. They also hear that Loghain will not rally his forces to work with the Orlesian Grey Wardens, not even against the blight. Although she does not wish to believe it, Aithne suspects the latter, at least, to be true.

Heading to higher altitudes the weather takes a turn for the worse and even Morrigan covers up with furs and a tunic. It becomes difficult to progress and they try to set up camp early. Alistair helps Aithne with her tent and they manage to get it stabilized in the shelter provided by a rocky outcrop. Now the rain is coming down in icy sheets and as the wind turns to a gale they give up on Alistair's tent. Aithne ushers Alistair and Kyran into her tent, leaving the others to their own devices. They throw the wet armor, clothes and bags to one side, laying the bedrolls down on the other. Aithne digs deep in her pack for some dry clothes and they settle down, back to back. Alistair is restless, tossing and turning for a long time. Once she sees that he is finally asleep, Aithne downs her draft and spirals into a bittersweet escape.

 _She enters Loghain's tent and he rushes to embrace her, sweeping her into his arms. The image of him shifts, wavers and then they are out in the warm sunshine, laying in the long grass. He gathers her to him, tangling his fingers through her long hair. Everything slows down and blurs as she is showered with softer, gentler kisses than she has ever known from him. His skin transforms underneath her hands, from rough and scarred to smooth. He is hot and hard against her, but he hesitates…and she is confused…_

Her heavy eyelids flicker halfway open and it is _Alistair_ in her arms and…oh… _sweet Andraste_ … she should not be doing this. He is inexperienced, he deserves better… and now it is she who hesitates.

His eyes are closed and his breath comes short and sharp as his fingers trace her body. For long moments they exist in that place where every sensation is amplified, erasing the rest of reality. He opens his eyes … _and he is so beautiful…_

"Aithne…"

His voice is hoarse and low. She covers his mouth with her own, sliding her tongue between his lips and eliciting a deep moan of pleasure and surprise from him. Her hand reaches down to encircle him and he groans, arching his body against her. She guides his hand to the dampness between her thighs, sliding his fingers into her and then, finally, his hard length. His breath catches as he enters her, his gaze transfixed by the sight of her body spread out beneath him. He laces his fingers between hers, and when he reaches a trembling release she feels joy and sadness uncoil from the depths of her stomach and rise up simultaneously inside of her.

* * *

Two score of days she has him, loving and tender. Alistair takes an exquisite joy in the discovery of her body and in the pleasure of her company: even the darkspawn cannot put a pall on his happiness. As time passes, she wonders if his love can burn away that part of her that cannot completely let go of Loghain.

They head across the mountains towards Orzammar. Alistair is apprehensive about entering the Deep Roads, about facing dragons, as none of them have any experience in combat against such creatures.

"Loghain told me much of these, " says Aithne, "they're much faster than you'd expect. They look slow and clumsy, but they take you by surprise, he said that they're as swift as eagles. "

 _She hears Loghain's voice speaking those very words, sitting behind her on the floor, his arms and legs wrapped around her body, his breath warm and comforting on the back of her neck…_

Now she has thought of him in such an unexpected moment, tears come to her eyes. Suddenly it all seems so long ago, and the feeling of loss is _magnified_ instead of diminished by the distance that is now between them. She breathes in sharply and regains control.

But Alistair has observed her tears - and then she sees it, _the moment the suspicion first crosses his mind._

 _  
_

* * *

At first he says nothing, but she can sense a reservation that was not there before. Eventually there comes a quiet moment when the others are busy elsewhere. They are sitting close to the camp fire and she feels the request forming before he voices it.

"Aithne, would you tell me of your other lovers?"

She doesn't answer straight away. He gives her time, quietly he waits. She turns to face him, and wants to freeze this moment in time, _this moment when he still loves her._ But he has asked, and now she has to answer.

"There have been several …"

"Loghain?"

Although she has expected this question for days, it is a shock to hear it spoken aloud.

She forces an answer from her reluctant lips. "Yes."

"Uuuhhhh," he stands up and moves away from her. " _Now_ I feel tainted," he says in disgust.

She wants to tell him how much more there is than what he has seen of Loghain; but he is angry, the loss of Duncan colors everything he feels.

"Do you love him?"

"No… No."

" But do you still _want_ him, Aithne?"

"I want _you_ ," and it's true, but it doesn't answer the question and he is not fooled by the evasion. The pain in his eyes is terrible.

"You should have told me."

She _should_ have told him.

"Alistair…"

"No Aithne, Don't pretend you don't see it. I can't trust you. I can't rely on you. When we catch up with him I'll kill him for his betrayal. I need to know where your loyalties lie. Will you try to stay my hand?"

She wants to say no, that she is behind him _no matter what._ But she carries with her the face of a much younger Loghain who was so kind to her, how could she ever raise a hand against that man?

She looks at Alistair and sees him burning with anger. Her inability to answer is enough for him.

He pushes her away and then he is gone.

He picks up his pack and calls for Kyran: they leave the camp, heading into the forest. Although she fears for his safety, she knows better than to follow him.

When Alistair reappears the next day he is a different man; his hair shaved off, he looks cold and strong.

 _In her mind she hears the words before he even speaks._

"It has to be over between us. "


	9. The Thin Line

The illusions of sunlight can be cruel: there is a flicker in the distance, he thinks for a second it is the glint of armor.

Loghain stands atop Fort Drakon, the sun is warm upon his face, heralding the arrival of spring. His hands rest on the cold, coarse stone of the battlements as he surveys the land laid out before him: Ferelden, the country for which he has sacrificed so much. His eyes follow the North Road until it winds into the rolling hills of the horizon. He can't believe the rumors of Aithne's death, he is ever searching the horizon for her. Every pang of remorse takes him by surprise.

* * *

The weight of responsibility lies heavy on Aithne's consciousness. There are nine in the party now, armies waiting on her call and all the citizens of Ferelden depending on their success. All these lives _…all these lives…all these lives…_ she is drowning in everybody else's need, but she has to succeed.

They have known hardship these last two months, it has been a long hard campaign through Orzammar and Redcliffe, but they have gained much in strength and experience, and some new companions. She looks across the camp fire at Wynne, whose presence helps to dissipate the fear that one of them will fall before they reach the archdemon. Alistair and Wynne are united in their bitter hatred of Loghain and as much as it gives the pair of them a bond, it puts a distance between Aithne and Wynne, it strains her leadership of the group.

Shale stands aside from them in silent disdain, judging all of them inferior with an even hand. Next to her, Oghren's raucous laughter, hard drinking and cussing break the tension. The noise of all of them swirls around her consciousness. She sits with them, not focussing on the conversation, but always thinking of the road ahead. When her glance falls upon Alistair, he looks away.

With lifeless words she details their next move, the rendezvous with a group of Orlesian wardens who have gathered on the north shore near Highever. Alistair takes a long drink of wine and hands it around. In idle moments he sinks into quiet contemplation, appraising her with disappointed eyes; but in these important decisions, the tactical choices and carefully drawn plans, he is supportive.

* * *

In battle, Alistair is vengeance personified; every darkspawn pays for what he has lost. He is magnificent now, strong, resilient and terrifying to behold. When she falters he is there, cutting down the enemy at her back, but then he looks at her, as if to reckon up the weight of everything, of how many times over she _owes_ him.

She is sick of it all by now, tired of being judged. In part this is why she spares the assassin: they have him at their mercy, but he looks up at her and bargains for his life. She sees something in his eyes, something more than a cold hearted killer, something worth saving. She takes a risk. Alistair snorts in derision, she thinks for a moment that he may challenge her decision: their eyes lock but he backs down with a look that tells her _this is on your back_.

But Aithne knows something that Alistair does not. The assassin had him, neck exposed with the perfect opportunity to strike a fatal blow; but Zevran hesitated, looked around for somebody to stop him. A deliberate thing… a calculated move, Zevran wanted to be stopped and she obliged. Now she is willing to play the game and in return he will tell them who sent him here.

"So, Anora wants me dead, what a surprise, and presumably Loghain was also behind this?" Alistair looks at Aithne as if this somehow this compounds _her_ past offenses against him.

"The contract came from Anora, she offered a princely sum to remove any surviving threat to her claim to the throne," the assassin replies, "I do not know if this was condoned by Loghain."

Aithne frowns. "And if you had succeeded with Alistair, then you would have had to have killed us all, to avoid inconvenient witnesses?"

"Yes, too bad for Anora that I underestimated your strength."

Aithne extends her hand to Zevran and pulls him to his feet. "We need help, so you're getting a second chance. Give me a reason to doubt you, even once, and I'll cut you down, you can rely on it. "

* * *

Zevran is no shallow man, but his flirtatious manner and outrageous banter ensure that this is how he is initially perceived by most of the party. Only Aithne and Leliana see more to him. Around the camp fire at nights they talk of everything and of nothing at all and gradually they all begin to trust him, in varying degrees. He shares stories of some of his mis-adventures with the Crows, and introduces them to the spicy cuisine and the heady wines of Antiva. Aithne in particular, comes to be glad of his engaging company.

One night Zevran asks Aithne about the tension between her and Alistair.

"Alistair has a low opinion of me, and he doesn't trust me," she begins, flatly, staring into the fire as she tells him about Loghain; it is easier that way, to avoid seeing any reaction he may have.

"...Alistair assumes Loghain was behind Anora's contract. On top of that, of course, he blames Loghain for Duncan's death, and he blames me for lying by omission," she finishes.

Zevran does not appear shocked or surprised by any of it. He puts his hand across her back in a gesture of comfort. "None of us are perfect Aithne, look who you are talking to, for example."

"Alistair asked me what I would do if it came down to him or Loghain. Of course I wouldn't let Loghain hurt him, but more than that, he wants to hear that I won't stand between him and his revenge." She rests her head in her hands and sighs heavily. "I have to know Loghain's role in this, I need to hear it from his own lips. I can't believe he wants to kill Alistair with so few wardens left and the blight to deal with. How could he seek to weaken Ferelden from the inside like this?"

"My dear Aithne, the citizen's of Denerim do not understand the gravity of the situation because Loghain, Howe and Anora fail to understand it. Indeed, when I accepted Anora's contract, I thought I was doing the usual job of…settling differences. Only the wardens have understood the magnitude of the threat. We need to resolve these internal issues and rally all of Ferelden's armies to face the onslaught together, do we not?"

"You're suggesting that we deal with Anora and Loghain before facing the archdemon, then?"

"I am."

"I can't take Alistair to Denerim, by now I believe him to be an even match for Loghain and he will try to kill him upon sight. I need to bring Loghain's resources in line with ours, without losing one of them."

They sit quietly for a few minutes until Aithne looks up at him and says, "When we get to Denerim, you had better give Anora a refund."

Zevran laughs softly, "Because of my failure?"

"Because of your decision not to carry out the killing."

Zevrans eyes widen as he considers denying what she seems to know.

"Yes, I am observant," she replies to the unspoken thought, "and I'm not stupid Zevran, so don't try to dismiss me with some nonsense."

"Ahh," he replies, an utterance laden with pain. He contemplates his answer, and this time it is he who cannot face her.

"During my time with the Crows… I did something terrible, so terrible that I lost my desire to live. I could not go on with such a life. Of course with the Crows, there is no option of quitting. I sought a vehicle for my death, that is all. "

He stops, looks over at her, and breathes deeply before continuing. " When Anora's contract was presented to us, none of the Crows bid to take it, we like the odds stacked more convincingly in our favor. I did not care. I took the contract, and then decided, in the moment, to take the small chance that you would spare me."

He smiles again as he pauses. "You see how good my instincts are? I bet my life and I was right, you did spare me."

She waits for the rest of it, but he stops and shakes his head at the unspoken second question. "I cannot speak of what brought me to this, please don't ask me to." His eyes tell her that this is not the time to press him.

She says,"I have found actions are effective at eclipsing pain, that serves me well enough for now. Maybe there will be a time when we can both learn to cherish life again."

He extends his hand and takes hers, sitting quietly for a while with that simple comfort.

She thinks about it for a long time, but there is only one possible course of action. "I'll send Alistair and the others ahead to meet the Orlesian wardens, then I'll go to Denerim and attempt to rally Loghain's forces behind us. I would like you to come with me. "

"I would have it no other way, " he replies.

* * *

After so many months, it comes to this: Denerim, Fort Drakon, Loghain is in this very building. This is not the time to doubt herself, but there it is - the anticipation of seeing him again eclipses all other thoughts and concerns. It had been difficult to persuade Alistair and the others to go ahead of them to Highever, but Alistair was able to put his own agenda aside temporarily in the face of the greater good, she is thankful for this chance to confront Loghain without him.

The guards know Zevran to be an agent of Anora and so he is allowed into the fort along with Aithne, presumed to be his traveling companion. They walk down the hallway and she is so consumed by her thoughts that she does not speak even when Zevran addresses her. After a moment they come into the crowded and bustling assembly hall. They look around, wondering where to start looking for Loghain, then the crowds part and there he is. After all the fighting, and traveling, all the time spent thinking how she might see him again, re-living every touch…there he is. The way he holds himself, every nuance of his demeanor is unsettlingly familiar. She knows him so well …and yet now, not at all.

He is talking to Cauthrien but then he sees her from the corner of his eye. He turns slowly to meet her gaze, locking his eyes onto hers …the noise of everyone around them fades into the distance, only he is in focus.

She approaches him and he blanches, for a moment he does not move.

"Aithne," is all he says, but the weight of his words and his expression convey a joyous disbelief. He steps toward her as if he cannot believe this vision is real until he touches her. He places his hands on her shoulders and shakes his head, "I hardly dared believe you might be alive."

The moment is different to how she had imagined it. She does not know what to say first, in front of all these people.

"Aithne, let us go somewhere more private," he urges.

Zevran turns to her anxiously, puts a hand upon her arm to remind her of his support. Loghain turns a burning gaze upon him then looks back to Aithne. Taking her silence as assent, he turns to leave, holding her gaze, as an invitation to follow him.

Inside his quarters he turns to stand before her. She feels desire, anger and hatred all together. She cannot go to him, it has been too long, and far too much has come between them. He reaches for her but she thinks of the contract on Alistair's life. A surge of anger burns up from her stomach, her hand finds his neck and her fingers rest threateningly on his throat. She can feel his pulse and he feels vulnerable beneath her touch. Flickers of lightning play across her fingers and impart pinpricks of pain to his skin.

Her voice is soft and low, and in carefully controlled words she says, "Anora hired an assassin to kill my fellow Grey Warden, to deplete my allies and weaken my party against the blight. Did you have a part in this?"

He doesn't reply straight away, and that angers her even more. A sharp pulse of energy surges through her hand, running deep into his chest. He gasps and it is several moments before he can speak.

"Uuuhhhh… . Anora did what… ? I can't believe you are asking me this. "

"So long as Alistair lives Ferleden will be divided. Anora is your daughter, I assume you act with her."

"You assume too much. "

"Should I take that as a denial?"

He does not respond, for he can only think of the fact that she is in front of him again. " _Aithne_ , I thought you were dead. I thought you were _dead_."

Without moving his gaze from her eyes he takes her hand from his throat, turns it over and presses his lips against her palm. With this, Aithne is reminded of _another time_ , as he intends. With a gasp, she steps back half way across the room.

He follows. "I thought that if you lived you surely would have sent word to me by now. How could you let me think that you were dead?"

She pales, her memory of a hard and indifferent lover deconstructing in front of her. "You left me to die at Ostagar, Loghain, what did you expect after that? "

"I tried to reach you..."

"Really? All I know is that you left and I was still there, fighting for my life. I would not have left you there, I would have fought to my death to reach you _and you know it. "_

"Aithne… . "

"You'll have to forgive me Loghain," she hisses, "for I don't know what to think. You never offered me much beyond your body. I made the best of your indifference, and then you were gone. You didn't even come back afterwards to see if I was dead!"

His voice becomes quiet, weary. "When I thought you had died. I couldn't bear it, it was only then ... ." He looks over at her, "I...sent someone back but they couldn't find you, they said the darkspawn had taken the bodies of the wardens. "

She does not respond and her silence is worse than the accusations.

"By whatever gods you worship Aithne, has everything changed between us? Are we enemies now?"

This is not what she had expected, she had hardened her heart against him, furious for what has transpired and angry that he has spoilt what they had. "I've fought my way across the length and breadth of Ferelden, raising armies to stand against the blight. I'm not the woman you remember. Many things have changed."

He moves toward her again but she pushes him away, lashes out at him with her hands. If she wanted to hurt him she very easily could and this would not be the way to do it. He knows that this is frustration and he feels it too. He grabs her wrists, turns her around and pushes her up against the wall sharply. He bends her arm behind her back, a hand on the back of her head. She feels his body pressing against her, his heart pounding against her back and his warm breath against the back of her neck. He speaks, soft and quiet. "And has this changed?"

His physical presence is intoxicating, as it always was. Her body remembers him, the exquisite pleasure in his touch, and every nerve is alive with anticipation. She doesn't move, and for a moment she almost forgets to breathe. Her tangled thoughts pull in different directions. She is walking the line between giving in to what is still there between them, and the deep anger, the harsh reality of what has transpired. Then she thinks of Alistair, of the knife at his neck and she is still unsure whether Loghain was complicit in that. She thinks of Ostagar, that moment of silent goodbye to Alistair, when they thought their time in this life to be measured in minutes, that memory is burnt into her soul. She no longer knows whether she can trust Loghain. Something turns cold inside of her.

He holds her there for a few long moments, then senses the shift in her response, releases her and walks away. When he turns, he asks the obvious question. "If you haven't come for me, then why are you here now?"

She takes a deep breath. "The situation is _desperate_ Loghain, don't you see it? Don't you know how many legions the archdemon has amassed? We need to work with each other and with the Orlesians to survive. I know that's hard for you, but I implore you to think of the greater good of Ferelden, as you have in the past. "

"You know better than to ask me to collaborate with the Orlesians, Aithne. " His expression darkens.

"If you don't believe that the blight will destroy us, then give me the opportunity to prove it to you. If I must, I will take you to where the archdemon is amassing his armies. It's dangerous, but a small group could get close and probably go undetected for a short time. Surely even you would not see Ferelden wiped out, rather than fight alongside the Orlesians?"

There is silence, and it occurs to her that he might not even want to know the truth, that perhaps he would rather live in his delusion than let go of his hatred.

Suddenly the distance between them feels enormous.

"Think about whether your hatred of the Orlesians has compromised your judgment. Think about why I would break the bond with my companions to come here. Think about how little you have to lose by allowing me to prove the truth of my words. Think about whether I have ever given you a reason to doubt me. " she says, and leaves while she still can.


	10. A Matter of Trust

To Zevran's consternation Aithne accepts the accommodation Loghain offers. Fort Drakon has an oppressive ambience: although they have been given large, sparsely furnished rooms, it feels as though the walls are closing in.

"This is the sort of place that sets my nerves on edge," Zevran grumbles. "Are you forgetting that Anora will likely get wind of my presence, it won't take her long to figure things out and have somebody sent after me."

"If anybody is capable of looking after themselves it is you Zev. Anyway, we have only to stay here until we extract a decision from Loghain."

"If you insist on us staying in this dreadful place then I shall have to get very drunk." Zevran rummages around the room for a goblet and pours himself a large draft of wine, offering the same to Aithne. He sits down by the fire and kicks off his boots. "So, how did it feel to see him again?"

"It was … difficult. " She sits down next to him, laces her fingers together and fastens her gaze on them. "I've tried for a long time to harden my heart against him but he still affects me." She purses her lips. "It's hard to focus on the Blight in the midst of such a strong ambivalence. "

Zevran stretches and leans back. "What did he say to you about Ostagar, about Alistair?"

"He has an answer for each of my grievances." She struggles to vocalize what it is that is bothering her the most. "I'm afraid that he can persuade me to trust him, when perhaps I should not be persuaded. "

"He seemed genuinely moved to see you, and I did not think he was a man to show his feelings. "

"He used to be almost completely closed off. " She sighs heavily, picking up her goblet and swirling the wine around in it. "He says his feelings changed when he thought I had died. Well, he didn't say that exactly, but he _almost_ said it. I don't know….it's difficult to adjust to his unpredictable responses. "

"People can be affected profoundly by loss, especially if they feel, in some way, responsible. " Zevran's voice wavers ever so slightly, enough for her to pause and look at him, and wonder if they are still talking about Loghain. He swallows hard before he continues. "With so much at stake, can you say that you would not do the same things that Loghain has done? "

She looks alarmed, but he presses on. "Imagine a battle that we cannot win, but one that we can escape from. Would you let me die, and Alistair … all of us, needlessly, or would you lead us out to fight another day? Eventually it might come down to _you_ to decide such a thing. "

Her stomach turns. At first she tells herself that she does not know what she would do. But she _does_ know, although she had not thought consciously of it until this point. She contemplates the possibility for a few minutes, as they continue to drink.

"He told me once that I didn't know what hard choices sometimes have to be made. He was right. You're right. I would withdraw my forces if they would be lost for no reason. The difference is, I would never have left Ostagar while _he_ still fought there. " She thrusts her empty goblet toward him, waiting for him to refill it before she adds. "Alistair will never forgive him. "

"Well, who among us can live up to Alistair's ideals." Zevran almost laughs then. "I have noticed that when you take me along with you and leave Alistair in camp, it is usually because there is a …questionable … piece of business to conduct. "

She gives him a wry grin, "Sometimes I just can't face all that heavy-handed disapproval. You just do what needs to be done, and oh so efficiently. "

He smiles for a moment, and then his expression turns serious again. "Do what you need to do to end this Blight. "

"Well then, I need to persuade Loghain to co-operate." She drinks deeply of the wine now, grateful for the creeping numbness it imparts to her body and mind.

* * *

 _She suffers a restless sleep. Her dreams fold together imagined scenes from an uncertain future. In one moment, she is running into the horde. Loghain rallies his troops with an almighty cry and surges past her on horseback, fronting a wave of furious assault on the enemy, cutting a path through to the Archdemon. He is magnificent, unstoppable. As she strains to see him, great plumes of acrid smoke choke her and momentarily obscure her view._

 _The smoke clears but the roar of the battle has faded. In the distance she hears the clash of steel on steel, it is distinct and isolated, from a single pair of opponents. Then she sees them: Loghain and Alistair are circling each other with a low stance and weapons drawn. Alistair strikes an almighty blow that floors Loghain, throwing him backward across the flagstones with a clatter of steel on stone. Her heart stops. She tries to call out but no sound emanates from her throat. For precious seconds Loghain does not move. He regains his footing just in time. A surge of battle fury takes him fueling a reign of powerful blows in rapid succession, pushing Alistair backward. The whirling melee continues at a furious pace. Alistair strikes at Loghain's hand, disarming him. Loghain's sword drops to the ground and Alistair kicks it out of reach. In doing so he sacrifices his balance, and in that moment Loghain regains the upper hand, knocking him to the ground and wrestling his weapon from him. Now Alistairs sword hits the ground and skitters across the flagstones to Aithne's feet. Both men stop and look to her, each extending a hand for the weapon._

 _  
_

* * *

Aithne awakens in a cold sweat, her head is fuzzy from the wine and her body is stiff from sleeping poorly. One of the servants has brought her a hot drink, an infusion of herbs, along with some fresh bread, cheese and fruit. Aithne dresses and then consumes these gratefully, feeling somewhat revitalized.

Zevran appears in her doorway and she beckons him in to share some of the breakfast. They decide to seek out Loghain and press him for a decision. As Aithne reaches for her staff she feels a shooting pain across her shoulder blades. Zevran sees her wince and his deft hands quickly find the knots in her muscles, kneading them expertly, releasing the tension and pain in her shoulders. It is hard not to consider what else he might be able to do for her and she shivers with pleasure, smiling inwardly for even entertaining the thought.

It is at this moment that Loghain appears in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. For a fleeting second he casts a cold look at Zevran; in the next moment the mask of his carefully composed demeanor drops back into place.

He directs himself to Aithne. " I'll need more than your opinion." And with this it is understood that he will allow her the opportunity to convince him of her cause.

She takes a deep breath as relief washes over her.

She takes a second to compose herself. "On horseback, Dunerton Valley is less than a days ride from here," she says. " We passed close to it a few days ago on the North Road. The Archdemon is in the valley. We're not yet ready to confront it but I can give you the proof you want. We need to travel light and move fast to avoid detection. "

"Very well. I will have four horses brought around to the main entrance. Lieutenant Braec will accompany us. We should leave as soon as possible."

Loghain pauses for a moment as if to comment further, but then thinks better of it, turns and leaves.

* * *

Rain comes down, a light drizzle of grey, blurring the line between the sky and the road ahead. Despite adverse conditions Loghain sets a punishing pace.

 _I have created my own purgatory._ His words echo in her mind from so long ago. Looking at him, Aithne has the feeling that he channels his unexpressed emotional energy into a driving physical force.

Around midday the rain lets up and the second half of the journey becomes more bearable. They pick up the pace and are making good time, but the pounding rhythm of the journey is tiring for Aithne, who is unaccustomed to riding. When they finally reach the valley she is saddle sore and weary.

She knows the area well, there are overlooks that can be reached by a brief hike from where they tether the horses. Leaving Zevran and Braec with the animals, Aithne and Loghain make their way along a narrow muddy path that winds up the edge of a steep incline. They walk in silence, she is tense with concern that they will be noticed: her tainted blood calls out to the horde and Loghain moves noisily in his heavy armor. After a steep and slippery hike they reach a vantage point allowing a view across the valley. Meadows either side of the river are crawling with darkspawn.

Loghain gives her a quizzical look. "Darkspawn. This is not what you brought me here to show me. "

She sinks to the ground, placing a hand upon his arm to pull him into a prone position. "The Archdemon is here Loghain, I can feel it, we just need to wait." Aithne's heart is pounding, the Archdemon has to show itself before Loghain's patience runs out.

They wait. It is cold, damp, and the light is beginning to fade, she knows that there is not much time. From time to time Loghain glances at her expectantly and she can sense his growing irritation. The minutes drag by with nothing new to see.

Just as she is reconsidering the wisdom of bringing him here she sees it: a huge leathery wing rises up above the heads of its minions, it stretches out, clearly visible above the mass. The beast arches its neck upwards into view. A long angry bellow rises up in its throat and rolls across the valley until she can feel it in her stomach. The Archdemon, there is no mistaking it. A moment later the beast disappears from view. She glances toward Loghain, surely he must have seen it.

He has seen it.

He says nothing, but draws a sharp breath. The impact of it takes a moment to register with him. He catches her eye and in unspoken agreement they get up and start down the return path. The light is fading and the rain has started again. They stumble along, Loghain leading the way on the narrow trail. They are almost back at the encampment when he turns and stops. She is taken aback by the break in his stride and almost runs into him.

He looks at her and gives a slight shake of his head. "The man I used to be would have trusted your word."

 _The man I used to be_ … she is suddenly sick of the endless reminders of _his_ great losses, _his_ great sacrifices, of how he might have been _if only_ … . They had all lost things, they had all suffered.

"You made a mistake," she says, tersely.

"My life's path has been littered with mistakes, " he says. Sodden tendrils of black hair frame his face, a picture of abject misery. Her anger dissipates as she realizes what it must be costing him to say this, that it may be read as an apology for all of his indifferent treatment of her as well as his lack of trust in her knowledge and judgment. For a moment she forgets the cold and the rain and the reason they are here. Her blood begins to pound in her veins, stronger and stronger until it hurts her head. A rushing noise builds to a crescendo in her ears.

Suddenly she curses loudly, gasping in hideous realization. Darkspawn are nearby, almost upon them. Her knees go weak, her preoccupation with Loghain has compromised her clarity and cost them precious seconds. "They've sensed me! We have to move, fast!"

She pushes Loghain in the direction of the downward path. They break into a run, Loghain crashing through the foliage, clumsy and slow in his heavy armor. As they break onto the plain below, Zevran and Braec see a great mass of darkspawn round the corner at their backs.

Loghain pulls his sword from its sheath and turns to face them as Zevran and Braec run up to form a line with him. Aithne takes up a position just behind Loghain. Over the clash of steel and piercing shrieking of the enemy her voice rises up, powerful and melodic, laying out a powerful incantation. A soft light coalesces around her raised hands as they trace glyphs in the air in front of her face. She increases the volume and tempo until a ball of flames takes form before her. With a final gesture, she sends the thing hurtling past Loghain, setting it in the center of the horde, precisely placed to do the most damage possible.

Without skipping a beat she moves to the side of Loghain to get a clear shot into the enemy. Faster now, she incants, channelling a wave of paralyzing cold and ice into the front of the pack. Zevran falls beside her, but before the hurlock can finish him she fires pulse after pulse of energy over his body, always finding her target, always inflicting damage. The hurlock falls back. Just as they start to believe they might have the edge over their opponents, another wave of the beasts round the corner in front of them and they realize that this is not a battle they can win.

As Loghain and Braec continue to fight with a vengeance, Zevran turns to Aithne and their eyes meet. Between trained warriors only a split second is needed for communication, she gestures slightly and Zevran breaks rank to untether the horses. Aithne tries to hold back the encroaching enemy line with glyphs and a flurry of offensive spells as the others mount their steeds. As she grabs onto the bridle of her mount and pulls herself up onto its back, a darkspawn emissary gains some ground. Coming into range he gestures, hands quickly tracing familiar characters in the air. She feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and then the feeling passes. She has resisted the glyph but her mount is frozen in mid-turn. She slides from the animal, taking cover behind its motionless body to throw what spells she has left at the enemy. The sheer numbers before her bring a grim reminder of Ostagar.

 _Why did I risk this?_ Oh _Alistair, I am so so sorry, if I fail here the burden of it will all fall to you … ._ Then her discipline cuts in: incant, aim, cast, incant… she has to buy time for the others to escape.

But this time is different, this time Loghain does not leave without her.

There is a flash of steel before her. Loghain cuts a path between Aithne and the front line. With a furious battle cry he wields his sword, decapitating a hurlock and the emissary, each with a single blow. Re-sheathing the weapon he reaches down and pulls Aithne up onto his mount, behind him. As she wraps her arms around him, he turns the horse and races from the scene, running the animal flat out until they are well clear of the valley.

* * *

After a while, Loghain starts to worry about the horse as it is obviously struggling with the double burden. They slow down and eventually come to where Zevran and Braec have stopped on the road ahead of them. Loghain pulls in his horse and they dismount. He pulls off his helmet, revealing a haggard visage. His hand goes up to run through his hair and he closes his eyes for a moment. Nothing she could say here seems adequate. This will have to wait. She turns to Zevran.

"Ah! My darling Aithne, " he says, opening his arms in a flamboyant gesture. She moves to his side, making a show of turning him around once to check that there is no damage. It is dark now, but there are still several hours of riding between them and Fort Drakon. They deem it best to stay here for a time, the horses need to eat and rest. They make a fire and eat salted meat from their packs.

Zevran and Aithne take first watch, while Loghain and Braec try to take a short nap under a makeshift shelter. Aithne huddles down next to the fire, pulling her robes close about her. She feels a hand on her shoulder as Zevran sits down next to her.

"That was close, " he whispers. "Just tell me Loghain has been convinced. "

She nods mutely, feeling mindful of the reckless self-indulgence of proving her point personally to Loghain. They could have sent trusted representatives to make this observation and she feels guilty and remorseful for endangering them all.

"Good." Zevran is silent for a while, but he looks thoughtful.

"What is it Zev?"

His amber eyes turn to her, and he gives her a half smile.

"It got very boring, waiting with the horses. I was talking to Braec, about you, about Loghain. "

Seeing her eyes widen he raises a hand as if to halt her unspoken protest. "It wasn't gossip, it was… research. "

She cannot help but laugh.

"Anyway, Braec was at Ostagar, " he leans toward her as he lowers his tone even further, " he told me that although Loghain ordered his troops off the field, it was Cauthrien who led them out. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but surviving soldiers pulled Loghain out later, unconscious. "

Her stomach lurches as she contemplates the implication of this. When she tries to speak she finds that she is choked up. All she can do his grip his arm, unwept tears of joy in her eyes.

* * *

Later, when they remount and press onward, Loghain can sense a difference in Aithne's demeanor. The great wall of tension between them has softened, is barely there. He wonders if he is imagining it. He wonders if he has become prone to wishful thinking.

They arrive at fort Drakon just before dawn. Even the austere sillouette of the fort looks inviting after their long and tiring journey. The horse's hooves clatter on the cobbled stones noisily, alerting sentries who appear to take the animals to the stables. Servants have hot water brought to their quarters and they each indulge in a soothing bath, before sinking into an exhausted slumber.

* * *

When Aithne finally awakens, her muscles scream in sharp reminder of the events of the previous day. The sun streams through the narrow window and she can see by its position in the sky that it is long past noon already.

When she is finally able to drag herself out of bed, she goes to Loghain's office. She stops as she approaches his open doorway. He is sitting, slumped back in a large chair. His head rests on one bent arm, his gaze is distant, thoughtful. He is not encumbered with the usual Chevalier armor but dressed in civilian clothes. The simple attire, and what Zevran has told her, makes him feel more like _her_ Loghain again.

He notices her approach and gestures her in. She speaks first, absolving him of the need to apologize further on the issue of trust and judgment. "All that matters is where we go from here."

He nods, grateful to avoid unnecessary discussion of the previous day. He stands up and gestures to her to join him at a low table where there is a little food and drink set out. Aithne is ravenously hungry and she sits down to take what is offered as gracefully as her appetite will allow. As they eat they do not speak much. She is conscious of his every move, the brush of his arm against hers and fleeting moments when he looks at her. The passage of time is punctuated by his deep inhalations that are almost sighs. She finds the tension between them exhilarating and exhausting at the same time.

When they have finished eating she lays out her maps and plans on the table. She explains some of what has passed, about the Grey Warden treaties and the allies they have secured. His listens intently as she discloses to him the size and strength of armies raised at Redcliffe, Orzammar and the Circle Tower. He reviews all of it in quiet contemplation.

Looking up from the documents he finally comments, "You have achieved much. With this I see a chance for Ferelden. " His words are appropriate, but the tone of his voice is flat.

She cannot resist asking, "Have I surprised you?"

His expression shows that he is taken aback by the question. "Yes, I... underestimated you. "

She feels petty then, for forcing this concession. She returns abruptly to the matter at hand. " So you will work with us Loghain, when the time comes?"

"Yes, I am good to my word. "

"We have yet to rally the Dalish army. I'd estimate that we'll need ten or so days on foot to make the round trip to the Brecelian forest. If you can spare horses then we could be there in a little over a day. The rest of the party and the Orlesian wardens will met us in Denerim three days from now and then we'll set out. "

He snorts with derision, "Orlesian wardens and elves, we must be desperate. "

She ignores his caustic remark and continues. "Alistair and I think it likely the Archdemon will be drawn to Denerim, the greatest concentration of people in this area. We plan to station ourselves here in a defensive position and wait for it to come to us. "

"I defer to your appraisal of the situation, Commander." He says dryly.

There is a slight shift in her voice as she tries to continue without addressing his disdain. "I don't think it will be long, we have to make haste with our final arrangements. I'll show you how I'd like to deploy the combined forces, but there are a couple of complications we should discuss first. "

"Complications?"

"We found out that there is a Grey Warden being held in Howe's dungeons. For pities sake why Loghain? If I had fallen yesterday then the fate of Ferelden would have rested with Alistair and the Orlesian wardens. We need wardens as experienced as Riordan. You can't lock up Grey Wardens in the middle of a Blight! "

Loghain shrugs. "He was found in the grounds of Howe's estate, he is Orlesian and was arrested as a spy, naturally."

"He was born in Ferelden so don't even start about him being Orlesian. I have to insist upon his immediate release. "

"My dear Aithne, one of the things I most liked was that you never used to ask me for anything, " he says, his jaw tight.

She feels irritated now and snaps back at him. "Really? Well that 'agreeable disposition' thing, it's not really me any more, sorry. Are you with us or not ? "

He scowls but nods his assent.

She takes a moment to fold up her maps and plans, creating a break in the conversation before she tackles the second issue. "There is another, more serious complication… ."

He meets her gaze head-on, but what she has to say next is difficult and she hesitates.

"Alistair."

Loghain raises an eyebrow. She searches for the right words.

"Alistair blames you for the death of Duncan and Cailan."

"That is arguable, at best. " Loghain replies tersely, a frown furrowing across his forehead.

"Umm… , but there's something else. "

She stops for a moment, but there is no phrasing that she can think of to make it easier to say.

"After you left, I became … close … to Alistair. "

She glances at Loghain, gauging his reaction.

His eyes narrow as he looks at her. "Close? "

"We were … involved, until I told him about you. That I kept our relationship from him for so long was … unacceptable to him, it inflamed his anger towards you. He would not tolerate your presence in the group. You understand?"

He glowers. For a few moments he struggles to speak, as if the words are caught at the back of his throat. When it comes, his voice is cold, restating what she has told him with an accusative intonation. "You took another lover."

He knows all he needs to know and she says nothing more.

He breathes in sharply and places his head in hands, obscuring his expression. He finally lifts his gaze, his eyes lit up by jealousy. His voice has a cruel edge, "Well, how was it? "

"Don't, Loghain. " She wonders if he has even taken in the other aspect of her revelation, the implied threat on his life, the reason she is telling him this, the reason he _cannot_ fight alongside them.

He stands and turns away from her. She can see the tension in his back, in the way he holds his shoulders.

"What is there between you now? "

"It's over, " she says, and then, "Do you understand Loghain, he will one day seek his revenge. Please take this seriously. "

With an even tone he replies, "I live my life watching my back, but thank you for the warning. "

"And know this, the bond of the taint is strong, he is as a brother to me. I would never let you hurt him. "

"I already told you that Alistair is not on my agenda. Don't you believe me?" he says, turning back to face her.

She looks directly at him, and after a few moments, when she says, "I believe you," she knows she means it.

His expression softens. Some moments pass and the feeling of tension inexplicably grows again in the space between them.

"Aithne," is all he says, shaking his head slightly, his voice soft and heavy.

It affects her still, to hear her name spoken by him in this way.

"I have cultivated my defenses against you," she replies in a whisper, although he has not asked anything of her.

"You don't need any defense against me. "

He meets her eyes and for a moment neither of them move. Feeling awkward she averts her gaze but somehow he is gently running his hands along her arms as if he does not quite dare take a hold of her. He pushes her back against the wall, his face tilted toward the ground, as if now he cannot bear to meet her gaze full on. His breath is warm against the side of her face and she doesn't want to move. His hand moves down her body, uncertainly, as if trying to remember what it is like to touch her. He brushes his lips against hers with the lightest of touches: the sensation is exquisite, lighting up her entire nervous system. Her lips part, she intends to utter a protest, but the words never come. She closes her eyes and memories of how it was between them rush into her mind. When her eyes flicker open, his gaze is still on her, carnal and intense.

"Loghain." It is sorrowfully spoken, laden with the expression of all that has come between them, of all that has been damaged and lost along the way.

He is undeterred. His hand moves up around the back of her neck as he captures her mouth with his own. He kisses her, hot and hard, as though he'd never kissed her before. For a moment she is lost in the intoxicating sensation of his warm lips against hers, his tongue inside her mouth and she wants _so much_ to go with the feeling, to let it take over this moment. There is something else though, a dull nagging voice at the back of her mind reminds her of where they are. She pushes him away.

Through bleary eyes he frowns. "Aithne, " he says again, reaching for her. His voice is dull and heavy with desire.

"I can hear someone outside. " She pulls her robes back into place and moves away from him.

As if prompted, Cauthrien and Braec appear at the doorway. The tension in the air is palpable and they pause for a moment in uncomfortable silence.

"Ser! Rendon Howe is waiting for us." Cauthrien reminds Loghain. He sighs heavily. After a long moment of re-composure he gathers up a stack of documents and turns to Aithne.

"I will instruct the stable-master to give you whatever horses you need. " And without waiting for a response he leaves, Cauthrien and Braec in tow.


	11. Say My Name

Sitting in Rendon Howe's office, Loghain finds that today he doesn't care about the business of raising money and recruiting troops.

The meeting seems interminable. Howe's voice drones on and on while Loghain's thoughts flit back and forth. From time to time he remembers to make noncommittal noises to indicate that he is following the discussion, disguising the fact that his mind is mainly engaged elsewhere. He is thinking about Aithne: seeing her again, transformed by the trail of victories laid out behind her, has completely disarmed him.

 _But now she doesn't trust my ethics or my judgment._

Howe's voice cuts through his introspection, "And will you support me, Loghain?"

"Umm." Loghain is unsure what he has just been asked, but his vague response seems to have been accepted and the buzz of conversation continues.

She was right about Ostagar: his half-hearted attempt to reach her had been poorly done. But she was wrong to suspect him of targeting Alistair. There is a glint of Maric in the young man's eyes, the only defense he'll ever need against Loghain.

Eventually Cauthrien, Braec and the others are dismissed. Howe throws a conspiratorial glance at Loghain before removing some papers from a drawer and bringing them over to the table where they are seated. He starts to explain a recent modification to the agreement with the Tevinter slavers. Loghain narrowly avoids making an audible sigh as Howe pulls out a particularly long contract for review. Then it hits him: _she_ , who makes no attempt to disguise her obvious affection for Zevran, will be horrified at this treatment of elves. A wave of self-loathing washes over him. All elves are not like Katriel. He has to see an end to it before Aithne finds out. He makes a snap decision.

"Rendon, this arrangement with the Tevinters ... terminate it. We no longer have a need for it."

Howe stops and looks at Loghain with utter astonishment, "Why would we terminate such a lucrative deal? I assume you have a compelling reason-"

"It is not a suggestion Rendon!" Loghain lets his temper get the better of him.

Howe raises an eyebrow, but offers no immediate response. Loghain continues. "It appears that we are facing a true Blight." He shakes his head slightly, "I did not believe it until yesterday, but now I have seen the evidence with my own eyes. Consequently, we will be aligning our forces with the Grey Wardens. "

Howe stands, throwing the papers he is holding down onto the table. "We've just sat in conference strategizing for two hours and you mention this now?"

"It doesn't affect our immediate troop deployment and I wanted to talk to you alone. " Loghain leans forward in his seat, "It has taken some considerable effort on their part, but I _have_ been persuaded to work with the Grey Wardens. Much to my surprise, they have already rallied several sizable armies to their cause. "

Howe makes no attempt to disguise the disdain in his voice, "Forgive me Loghain, but I need a moment to absorb this turn-around."

Loghain nods, persuading Rendon Howe is never easy. "Take whatever time you need, but I assure you, there are significant forces at the Grey Wardens disposal. We can join with them or stand aside. It makes no sense to oppose them, for ourselves, or for Ferelden. "

"And have you _seen_ these armies, Loghain?"

"Seek confirmation if you wish. For myself, I have seen enough."

"Why is that warden here if she has such a force behind her?" Howe stabs the air with his fingers to emphasize his question.

Loghain stands, indicating his imminent departure. "The wardens command the stronger force. Nevertheless, they need our help, such is the magnitude of the threat we face. That being so, it would be politic to release the Grey Warden you are holding. "

"I will not! You've become _weak,_ Loghain. It's that woman isn't it?" Howe sneers, "I understand the power of desire, but come to your senses man."

Loghain purses his lips, biting back his anger. He breathes deeply, " _I have._ Don't make me wait too long before you to come to yours. "

Loghain goes directly to the holding cells, then stops and pauses at the guard station. He would have preferred Howe's compliance, he certainly does not need another knife at his back... but there is no time for persuasion. He instructs the guards to release Riordan.

* * *

As the light of the day fades, Loghain sits by the fire in his quarters, eating little and drinking plenty. By now Aithne will have discovered that Riordan has been freed. He had expected her to seek him out. When she does not appear he is surprised: he used to find her more predictable.

He hasn't felt so distracted for a very long time. He reflects upon their earlier encounter; it has left him confused about her feelings for him. He cannot dispel the fear that she may be in love with Alistair. Jealous insecurity inflames his desire, but knowing this doesn't weaken its effect.

He thinks of Alistair, naive and idealistic. Alistair... vibrant, strong and _handsome_ in a way that Loghain never was, even in his youth. He looks down at his hands, coarse, rough and scarred, representative of the rest of him. He sees himself for what he is, vocal in his anger but inarticulate with other emotions. A difficult man to love. Why would she want _him_ instead of Alistair?

And then the worst of thoughts occurs to him. Alistair and Aithne both have the taint, with all its gifts and curses. When he thinks of the passion it ignited in Aithne, he feels his stomach turn over. With both of them tainted, how _intense_ it must have been.

How could anything with him even compare to that? _Don't think of it._ Think about _anything_ else.

* * *

It is late when he gives in to the overwhelming desire to see her. He goes to her quarters and through the half open door he sees that the room is dark already. He stops in the doorway, allowing his eyes to acclimatize to the dim illumination afforded by the moon. He is reconsidering his impulse to wake her when he sees her stir. She sits up in the bed, pulling the sheets around her. He is not sure whether she has recognized him. He should say something, but he does not.

There is a dull noise as he kicks off his boots and walks over to her. He crawls across the bed to position himself on top of her, like a predatory animal.

His hand reaches out. Touching her chin, he tilts her face toward his. He does not intend to be confrontational or aggressive, but the wine has unhinged his inhibitions.

"How was it with Alistair?" he growls. "Is _that_ what you want? A man who follows all the rules… safe, predictable, gentle... a man who does not need taming?"

She pushes herself backwards on the bed, moving slightly away from him. Her eyes widen but she does not answer.

He follows, sitting astride her and locking onto her gaze.

There is a long pause before his voice comes, hoarse and low, "I want to make you forget about Alistair. "

His hand moves down to her neck, and through her soft skin he can feel her pulse, rapid against his fingers. He feels a hard knot of longing deep in his stomach. For a moment, he forgets to breathe. He leans in, his body hovering just above hers.

Then a deeper instinct cuts through the heavy fog of his desire, and he stops to ask, "Yes?"

She meets his gaze and gives the slightest of nods. It is enough.

A hot flush of response runs from his chest to his groin. He feels her hands wrap around his back, drawing his weight down onto her and he sinks into the embrace, his mouth hard against hers. With the wine coursing through his veins and the tangle of her limbs around his, the moment takes on a surreal quality.

He feels her fingers trace the taught muscles of his stomach and work their way up, under his shirt. He pulls the garment over his head, discarding it with a swift movement. She runs her hands down to his leggings, her fingers pulling open the laces as she kisses him. She works her hand into the unlaced garment, running down his length, exerting a pressure that drives a low moan of pleasure from deep in his throat. He catches her gaze and there is a _surge_ of something intangible between them.

She pulls back to wrest the leggings from him and he looks at her. Reality cuts through his desire for a moment as he takes in the evidence of hardships suffered these last few months. She is thinner than before and her limbs are more defined and wiry. He sees the lines of new scars wrapping around her body, attesting to the cost of her victories. He runs his fingers along one of the scars and feels a wave of tenderness and compassion that she has had to know such trials as these. He sees anxiety flicker across her face, as though she is afraid that he will want her less for all these imperfections. He sinks his lips down to her body, tracing the angry red lines with his lips before kissing her with an intensity designed to show that nothing will dampen his ardor.

She returns his enthusiasm, moving down to take him in her mouth. He fixes his gaze on that sight. His breath comes in deep short gasps until he has to bite down on his lip to hold himself back from the edge. He pulls back and curls his fingers into her dampness, circling her most sensitive spot. When she murmurs soft encouragements, he replaces his fingers with his tongue.

When she finally pulls him up against her, he is more than ready to oblige. He wraps her legs around his waist and enters her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. His hands are all over her, in one moment gentle, and in the next forceful and demanding. He feels alive with a feral hunger.

"Say _my name_ ," he says, his voice ragged and low.

"Loghain, " she whispers, " _Loghain_."

He thrusts into her, a wave of euphoria rises inside his chest, and he _almost_ loses control. She returns his passion with equal measure, pulling him tightly against her. He builds her response with his fingers until she arches her back in ecstasy.

He turns her around and presses up against her from behind, one hand around her body and the other in her hair. As he pushes into her again she gives a loud moan of pleasure. By reflex, his hand comes around quickly to cover her mouth, stifling the sound. He slams into her, moving faster and faster until the motion takes on a life of its own and he is unstoppable. She takes one of his fingers into her mouth and the sensation undoes him. Blood pounding in his ears, his muscles tighten and spasm as an arc of unrivaled pleasure completes him.

* * *

The first thing he is aware of the next morning is the heat of her back against his chest and the feeling of her wrapped beneath his arm. He savors it, not daring to move for fear of waking her. When she finally stirs, she pulls his arms more tightly around her. He feels a flush of something _possessive._ It alarms him, he thinks there should be something more worthy as the top note of his feelings for her.

He has awakened fully aroused. He feels almost embarrassed at the blatant evidence that his appetites control him. She turns to face him, threading her fingers between his. This small, intimate gesture pulls at his heart. In the warm light of the morning everything seems more real than it had last night and he is more self-conscious than he had been. He moves to kiss her neck, then murmurs her name. He wants to show her _affection_ , not just the searing hot flame of desire that had consumed him last night. But the pleasure he finds in her is like an addiction, all too soon he is overwhelmed by the sensation of it, releasing himself into her with an inarticulate sound.

They lay in each others arms until they start to hear the bustle of people outside going about their business. A serving girl comes into the room and starts when she sees Loghain. Her surprise quickly turns to amusement, as evidenced by her poorly suppressed giggles. Loghain decides that the best way to deal with it is to give her a clear objective. "Bring us some hot water for the bath, and some breakfast," he orders. He looks at Aithne with amusement, they will be the talk of the fort, but he does not care.

When the water and food have been delivered they begin to make ready for the day. Aithne rises first and Loghain sits back on the bed watching as she pins up her long chestnut hair. As always, two stray strands tumble free immediately, framing her face in an appealing way. Ordinary things about her, things that he has seen before, have taken on an endearing quality.

She turns and smiles at him. "I'm going to see Riordan, thank you for seeing to his release Loghain."

She knows then. He nods, his eyes never leaving hers. "Where is he now?"

"At the tavern. _And_ I got word, the rest of my party are here already, a day and a half early! I'm going to meet them tonight. We need to leave as soon as possible for the Dalish camp. "

Loghain reels, he feels as though he has been punched in the stomach. "You're going to join them _tonight_?"

"Yes. "

Without acknowledging the tension in his voice she finishes dressing, tying a thick band around the waist of her robes. She stands up and she looks magnificent. Now he sees the other changes wrought by her journey, those that play into her bearing and demeanor.

She says, "I need to requisition some supplies for the trip ahead. I'll go and get started."

Silent moments stretch out between them. It is not like her to leave things unspoken; as it is _his_ way, he cannot help but think that it is all he deserves.

She turns and hesitates before she leaves the room, biting her lip thoughtfully, but all she says is, "I'll see you before I go. "

* * *

Loghain likes to control things. He had thought that he was used to making sacrifices and letting go of what he wanted for the greater good, but he finds that it feels much worse to be on the receiving end of somebody else's decision. He thinks back to Rowan with an intense pang of regret.

He attends to a few urgent duties, going through the motions of his normal business, then seeks out Aithne as soon as he can. He finds her with Zevran, gathering supplies in the storeroom. She sees him at the doorway and beckons him in. His dour expression communicates that he would rather they were alone. With a glance, she indicates to Zevran that he should give them some privacy. When he hesitates, she places a hand upon his arm, a reassurance that she will join him later, that it is all right for him to go. Zevran covers her hand with his own and meets her gaze, before retreating. The quiet gesture of intimacy does nothing to improve Loghain's sense of insecurity.

He goes quiet. This is it, this is the time to tell her that he cannot bear to let her go into the fray without him. This is the time to tell her that he is afraid that she'll go back to Alistair. This is the time to tell her that she has found her way into his heart.

Long seconds tick past as he searches for the right words. They pack up potions, medical supplies and sundry items in silence.

 _This is the time to tell her,_ there may not be another chance but he _still_ cannot reach inside of himself to express it. His emotions have been locked down tightly for so very long that he simply cannot utter the words. His tongue feels thick in his mouth and he chokes on the very thought of it.

She is the one to speak. "Whatever you feel about them, Zevran and Alistair will protect me, as I will them. This won't take long. I'll see you _soon_. I'll see you again before… "

Although her voice tails off, he knows the rest of it. _…before the final offensive._ He will see her again, but their days are likely numbered.

She takes his hands: a response flashes through his body, tightening like a fist around his heart.

With quiet resolve she says, " _You_ taught me how to be strong. "

Then he hears his own voice, but it is as though he is listening to a stranger speak. "Nothing can stand in the way of this duty." It holds nothing of what he wants to say.

She pulls back, terminating their fragile connection, "I'll come back to you, Loghain."


	12. Ever After Never Came

It is hard to leave him. Aithne's legs feel leaden as they walk to where her horse is tethered. She throws the supply pack onto the animal's back and then fumbles trying to buckle the pack. She curses in frustration as the strap slips out of her hands.

"Let me help." Somehow his large coarse hands make fast work of the fastenings, giving her a moment to reconstruct her composure.

There is something there now, in his eyes and in the smallest of gestures: his hand covers hers as she takes the bridle, his fingers brush the hair from her eyes before she turns to mount the horse.

She reaches into a pocket in her robes, withdrawing a thin silver cylinder traced with an ornate pattern of scrolls. She found this months ago in the Deep Roads, it has always reminded her of Loghain. She wants to give him something as a keepsake and she leans down to hand it to him.

He is taken aback. For several moments he simply stares at it, as though he is unaccustomed to receiving gifts. Finally he unscrews the cap and draws out the delicate scroll that it contains. It is a map of the Anderfels, drawn in colorful inks, accented by a gilt edge.

He looks up at her. "It is exquisite. Thank you." Something catches in his voice as he speaks. "Thank you," he says again, quietly.

This long drawn-out goodbye is becoming harder with every passing second and suddenly Aithne wants to be done with it. She urges the horse into a gentle walk. When she reaches the head of the path to Denerim she pauses, turning to catch a last glimpse of him. Loghain remains exactly where she left him, his gaze following her progress. She raises her hand and Loghain tilts his chin in response, conveying a final gesture of goodbye.

* * *

A strong gust of wind chases her into the tavern and the flames of numerous candles near the entrance waver wildly in response. They should put covered lamps near the doorway, she thinks. The old wood panelling and low ceilings give the tavern a warm ambience, a comforting cosiness that imparts a false sense of security. Tonight, the air is laden with the tangled aromas of hops and leather, a buzz of animated conversation drowns out the noise from the street outside.

Once she removes her dark cloak, Aithne becomes conspicuous in her fine robes. A waitress approaches to ask if she is with the Grey Wardens. When she nods in affirmation she is directed towards a low table at the very back of the room where some of her companions have established themselves. She winds her way through the crowd, her heart pounding in anticipation of seeing her companions again, especially Alistair.

Alistair, Leiliana, and Riordan are seated on a large well-padded bench, Kyran lies across Alistair's feet. Aithne smiles to herself as she remembers how much the Mabari's funny little ways used to amuse Alistair. The three of them are dressed in light leather armor. Alistair has always hated wearing plate mail indoors; in contrast she has known Oghren to sleep in his and indeed, he is wearing it this evening. With them are two humans who she does not know, they are equipped with fine weapons and armor and she assumes that these are the Orlesian wardens.

She pauses, savoring the moment of simply being an observer. Kyran sits up to put a paw on his masters lap and Alistair idly strokes his head; Leiliana twirls a strand of her hair in her fingers as she talks to Riordan; Oghren vehemently objects to something one of the strangers says and his comment is emphasized by a fist on the table.

The Mabari sees her first, tilting his head and letting out a whine of excitement, alerting the group to her presence. He jumps up and bounds over to her, jostling Oghren's arm and causing the dwarf to choke on his beer and then shake his head in annoyance.

"Aithne!" squeals Leiliana.

"Ah, the woman I have to thank for my liberation," Riordan says, "apparently you worked wonders on Loghain."

Hearing Loghains name spoken in front of Alistair makes her cringe inwardly; her eyes seek out his gaze in anticipating a glare of disapproval. However, his expression is unreadable.

Riordan gestures towards the two strangers, the first a tall and beautiful woman with olive skin and a wild mass of long auburn hair, the second a stocky dark-haired man. "Aithne, this is Rafaella and Amaury, our brethren from the Orlesian order, and …. " he scans the tavern, "ahhhh, Christian… "

He beckons to somebody across the crowded room.

A lithe young man approaches, strikingly attractive with shoulder length black hair, dark eyes, high cheekbones and flawless pale skin.

Zevran is just behind him, a hand on his back as they move toward the group. Zevran greets Aithne with a kiss. Seeing her enquiring glance he murmurs playfully into her ear, " _Be_ suspicious."

The newcomers greet her with a kiss on each cheek, as is the Orlesian custom. Rafaella returns to Alistair, but instead of sitting beside him, she sits on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck playfully, her gaze upon Aithne. Alistair obligingly wraps an arm around her in response but Aithne sees a blush rise in his cheeks, reassuring her that there is still something of the old Alistair left in him.

Aithne looks around, "The others… are they-?"

" …As anti-social as they ever were?" replies Oghren. "They're still with us, if that's what you're asking." He flicks a coin toward the waitress as she deposits a new pitcher of beer on the table.

They drink for a while, catching up on the events that have transpired and listening to Aithne relate details of the newly aligned forces. Christian adopts a languid posture, an arm draped over Zevran's thigh. Rafaella eventually tires of trying to make Aithne jealous, and settles down to quiet conversation. Amaury is thoughtful introspective, but when he speaks, everybody listens.

As the hour draws late, Riordan rises to his feet, declaring, " Brothers, sisters, we have some serious Grey Warden business to discuss and time is growing short. Now that Aithne has joined us, let us retreat to a quiet room." It is in the relative privacy of Alistair's quarters that they finally hear the truth: only a Grey Warden can kill the Archdemon, and such a victory will be bought at the cost of that wardens life. Riordan imparts the information with a weary resignation and they sit quietly for a few minutes, absorbing the unexpected twist to their collective fate. As their glances play around the room, Aithne has the feeling that each of them quietly believes themselves to be the strongest of the group, each believes that _they_ will be the first to reach the Archdemon, and that the sacrifice will be theirs. After such a revelation, all other topics seem too trivial to merit discussion. They make a perfunctory check regarding the details of their imminent departure, before adjourning for the evening.

* * *

As they disperse, Aithne stays behind to clear the air with Alistair. But as she lingers, so does Rafaella.

"Alistair, may I talk with you alone?" Aithne asks in a plaintive tone.

"I suppose so," he replies, sighing slightly.

He takes Rafaella to one side, leans in close to her ear and whispers, "I'll come to you later. " Rafaella flashes an angry glance at Aithne and leaves, slamming the door behind her.

Alistair sits down heavily on an old wooden chair that creaks under his weight.

"Well then," he says.

"Alistair… ."

"I know. You want to dissuade me from seeking revenge."

 _I know_. The tone of his voice says it all. She realizes that she is unlikely to win any ground here tonight.

"I told you I would not go after Loghain until this blight has been dealt with and I will stand by my word, " he says, "keep him out of my path and you buy him time. That's all you can ask of me."

"Listen to me Alistair, things were not the way you think, he didn't even know Anora had hired Zevran. "

"So he says," Alistair replies, looking disinterested. " Did you also clear him of poisoning Arl Eamon? No? We still don't know who was behind that now do we?" He scowls darkly.

"Perhaps Anora- "

"Oh save it Aithne! I really don't trust your objectiveness."

"Nor I, yours. "

Alistair snorts with anger. "Are we done here then?"

How had it come to this so quickly? She hadn't meant to argue with him.

"Alistair, please, don't… ." She pauses before making a confession. "Honestly, I don't even care about who went after Eamon and I don't know why you do. That man turned you out, I could almost poison him myself for that. "

His expression softens and then he groans loudly with a sound akin to frustration or exasperation. As he nurses his head in his hands there is a long silence, punctuated only by the crackling of logs in the grate.

When he continues, he sounds tired. " I can't believe there are all of these complications. It's hard enough-"

"We need Loghain's troops. "

He looks up at her. "And are you sure he won't pull his troops out again at the crucial moment?" He arches an eyebrow. " Let me answer that for you, you can't be sure. So, how much help is it _really,_ to make plans that include a force you can't rely on?"

There it is, her deepest fear laid out between them. If she trusted Loghain completely then surely her stomach would not wrench at Alistair's words.

She ventures a statement of logic. "There can be no tactical withdrawal, if we fail there will be nothing to withdraw to, Loghain understands this."

"I hear what you're saying Aithne, but don't try to garner my approval. This is your choice, I'm not in agreement but I'll stand by you until the job is done. "

Aithne decides to let the subject drop, but she is not yet ready to leave. As her gaze wanders around the room she notices a pair of small ornate gauntlets on a chest in the corner, far too small for Alistair's hands.

"How are the new wardens? You seem to have taken to them anyway," she says.

He looks surprised at the abrupt change of subject, but replies in an even tone. "They have skills and we need them. Having them with us has helped relieve some of the stress, the exhaustion and the relentless drudgery of it all."

"I imagine Rafaella helps especially… ."

He smiles, tight lipped, as though he had been waiting for this. "She does, yes. Jealous? Or too wrapped up in Loghain to care? "

Her retort dies on her lips and all she says is, "She makes you happy then?"

"Am I happy? No. Slightly happier than I was? Yes. " He runs a hand through his hair. "I am becoming fond of her. " Then a frown furrows his brow. " I thought I would fall in love one day, have a good life, raise children. 'Happily ever after' never came and now it probably never will. We'll all be lucky just to survive this. "

"None of us have the life we'd imagined as children. People don't do they? Not even in times of peace."

"Don't they?" he replies. "I don't want to believe that."

He stands and moves toward the fireplace, holding his hands out to warm them.

He glances at her before he speaks again. " If I die taking down the Archdemon then your precious Loghain will be safe. Have you thought about that? Let me take the final blow, and you get everything you want. "

She gasps but is struck speechless.

"You think _that_ ' _s_ hurtful? " he continues, " I'll tell you what hurts, fighting alongside someone who may turn against me in the end. "

His anger lies heavy in the room between them and she knows that he wants her to leave. She moves toward the door, her hand pauses on the knob and she wants to say _for pities sake_ _let go of this obsession… , b_ ut she looks at his jaw, tightly set in a grim line and knows that nothing she can say will change the way he feels. She feels cold and very tired as she makes her way down the drafty hallway to the sanctuary of her room.


	13. Reparation

_Nothing_ is ever simple these days. Aithne brushes the annoying midges away from her face and scowls impatiently. This was supposed to have been a quick mission: one days ride to the forest, an affirmation of the treaty and a swift return to Denerim. Three days is far too long to have lingered here and she is anxious about the Archdemon bearing down on Denerim in their absence.

The party are scattered around the Dalish camp. Zevran is discussing the mobilization of the Dalish forces with the new Keeper. Of all the party the elves are, naturally, most comfortable with Zevran. Aithne has deemed it best to let him deal with the loose ends of their alliance but the process of waiting is gnawing at the frayed edges of her nerves.

The sun is warm and Aithne starts to feel drowsy. To keep herself alert she starts practising a new spell. While they all get more combat experience than anyone could possibly desire, it's impossible to master new techniques in the chaos of conflict. For a new incantation she has to trace out the hand gestures slowly so that later she'll be able to do it quickly, under pressure.

"Let me show you." Morrigan's voice cuts across her concentration.

She smiles and watches as Morrigan's pale and slender arms take up the tempo of the spell. There is a little flick of the fingers that she is still unable to master. Morrigan takes Aithne's hands in her own and guides her through the spell. She steps through it a few times and then tries again on her own. The spell comes together in a blaze of glory and Aithne smiles broadly at Morrigan, appreciative of the help.

When they sit down, Aithne takes out a flask, and takes a long drink from it. She offers it to Morrigan, who declines.

"I can't have too much. Got to ride that damn horse again later and I'm not good with it even when I'm sober," Aithne comments, as much to herself as to Morrigan.

"Who's driving you to drink? I must say that Alistair frequently tests the limits of _my_ patience," says Morrigan with a wry smile.

Aithne laughs and is about to answer when she sees Zevran beckoning them. In the distance they see the rest of their companions assembling near the horses. Morrigan and Aithne exchange a last glance.

"Maker give me the strength to see this through," says Aithne, as she takes a last drink, secures the flask in her pack and heads towards the group.

* * *

The ride back to Denerim is warm and pleasant. They alternate between a fast pace on the good roads, and a slow crawl on uneven terrain. During a period of particularly slow progress Aithne pulls her horse up to ride alongside Zevran. His gaze lies ahead of them, fixed upon Christian.

"Is it serious?" she asks.

He breaks from his reverie and smiles at her. "I am rarely serious about such things. "

"You seem pretty enthusiastic."

"He and I have agreed that we owe it to ourselves to take as much pleasure as we can… while we can."

"That seems to be the philosophy around here these days," says Aithne, glancing at Alistair and Rafaella.

"Does it bother you?" he asks, following her gaze.

She sighs before admitting, "A little. " She looks across at Zevran. "I loved him once, and part of me still does. There was so much that was good between us, I had no reservations or fears about him. It felt good to love Alistair. "

"But even so, you have _always_ wanted Loghain?"

She glances around, as though afraid that somebody else may be within earshot. "Loghain pulses in my veins like an addiction. It's hard to be apart from him, but I'm afraid to turn over too many stones in Denerim for fear of what I might find out. "

The conversation stops for a few minutes as they traverse a narrow bridge in single file.

"You don't like him do you?" she continues, looking a little apprehensive in anticipation of his answer.

"If he is good to you and you judge him worthy, then that is enough for me, " says Zevran.

"I wish it was enough for Alistair, " she says, mainly to herself.

* * *

The worst part of the journey is the final approach. Road weary and windblown they come into view of Denerim. As they look across the rolling countryside they can make out the skyline of the city in the fading light. Aithne realizes she is holding her breath, anxious with anticipation that the city may have already been overrun. However, as they draw closer they see evidence of the bustle of normal life and they exchange relieved glances.

They should stay at the fort, but the Arl of Redcliffe's Estate is closer, more comfortable and avoids the risk of a confrontation between Alistair and Loghain. They settle into the comfortable rooms of the estate and Aithne sends a messenger to the fort to tell Loghain where they are.

The tension within the group is palpable. They sharpen weapons, repair armor and replenish supplies. When those tasks are completed they take whatever entertainments they can find and retire to their various rooms: anything and everything to distract themselves from the sensation of _waiting_.

Aching to see Loghain, Aithne is eager to take her leave and make the short journey up to the fort. She bathes first, the warm water clouding with the dust and grime of the journey. She changes into some clean robes, gathering a few essential items into a small pouch to take with her. Just moments before she can slip away there is a knock, and then Morrigan lets herself in, closing the door behind her.

"Morrigan. I wasn't expecting you. Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly. I have a… proposition. Hear me out before you reply." And the apostate lays out the incredible request.

Aithne is stunned, she sits down on the bed and tries to absorb what she has been told. It is several moments before she can even question what she has just heard. "You want to conceive a child by one of the wardens? Aside from saving one of us from certain death, why do you want to do this? What do you have planned for the child?"

"I cannot tell you that, but you must have known that there was a compelling reason mother sent me with you."

"I just assumed that Flemeth thought Alistair and I were too weak to take on the Blight unaided." Aithne shakes her head. "Anyway, it doesn't matter what I think. If you wish to lie with one of the wardens, you'd better speak to them. I assume you had in mind Riordan or Amaury?"

"On the contrary, they have been tainted for far too long, it has to be Alistair or Christian."

Despite herself, Aithne is shocked. "But you despise Alistair, and, you do know that Christian prefers men, right?"

"My preference or theirs does not matter. It has to be somebody that has been recently tainted, and it has to be soon."

"Certain death for one of us, or an uncertain risk. I'm not sure I can persuade them. You must see that they may prefer to die than take on something with unknown consequences. "

"If you want to live, if you want your brethren to live, I suggest you find a way to persuade them."

It suddenly seems like events are spiraling out of control, but it must be true, as why would Morrigan lie? If she simply wanted a child she could have easily seduced one of the men by now and she obviously knows what was supposedly revealed only to the wardens.

"I will speak to Alistair and Christian, but it has to be up to them." Aithne pauses at the doorway, looking back at Morrigan as if in hesitation.

"You are the strongest, the most likely warden to take down the Archdemon, they may agree if they think specifically of saving your life."

Aithne shakes her head sadly. "Don't count on _that._ "

* * *

Alistair doesn't care about Morrigan's undisclosed agenda.

"Whatever her motivation, I am not going to be used as a stud for Morrigan. How could you even ask this of me?"

"It may save your life, or mine, or Rafaella's. Have you become so hardened that you don't even care about that?"

There is anger in his eyes now. " You're trying to make me responsible for your survival or Rafaella's? It won't work." Then his voice softens. "I just can't do it. I won't do it. "

"Nor I," says Christian. "Tell the witch that if she is unwilling to tell us what she has planned for the child, then we would rather face the consequence of slaying the Archdemon. "

Aithne nods and considers them gravely. "I understand. I had to put it to you but I don't blame you for refusing. "

Alistair's anger dissipates quickly as he sees that Aithne has no intention of pressuring or persuading him. The three of them consider each other in silence.

"Would you do it, in our place?" asks Christian.

She isn't sure, all she can say is, "I have a strong desire to live."

"I'm sorry. If it turns out to be you who suffers the consequence of this decision... " Alistair swallows hard and looks her in the eye," …then I'm sorry. "

She nods. She understands and there is nothing more to be said, except to Morrigan.

* * *

It is dark now, but the fort is not far from the estate and she _has_ to see Loghain. She collects a few things from her room and takes a horse. The moon provides barely enough light to see the road, but the horse seems to know the way.

She is excited about seeing Loghain and is paying little attention to the road ahead when suddenly she feels a prickling sense of anticipation. She looks around, eyes straining in the darkness. She hears a noise and then she feels something, a sharp needle of pain. Her hand goes up to her neck and pulls out the small metal shard, but her hand feels strange. As she considers what is happening, her body starts to feel heavy and she slides from the saddle, hitting the ground hard. Then she knows what it must be, a poison dart. For a split second she panics, she knows she has little time. She reaches into her robes for something Zevran gave her, a small vial of an elixir that blocks the body's absorption of poison; something that will buy her some time. She fumbles… her hands can hardly undo the vial, then somehow she has it open, downs the draft, an acrid taste and noxious fumes assaulting her senses. She lies on the ground for what feels like an eternity, her breathing shallow, but she doesn't lose consciousness.

She is aware of people, two voices getting closer, and then a boot connects with her jaw. The metallic taste of her own blood fills her mouth.

"Make sure she's dead."

"I thought he wanted a taste of what had so entranced Loghain."

"He said to kill her, simpler that way."

She stays perfectly still, if they leave her for dead, then that is her best chance. It is only when she hears the scraping of a blade being drawn that she pulls together all of her energy into an offensive strike. Her eyes snap open and she casts a swathe of ice before her. That is all it takes: a few seconds gained by the element of surprise and she cuts them down with a flurry of spells, before they can retaliate.

As the pumping of adrenaline slows, the effects of the poison encroach more severely upon her and she knows she has to get an antidote quickly. She needs Zevran, but she is closer to the fort than to the estate. Sheer force of will gets her onto the horse again. Once in the saddle she slumps forward, unable to guide the beast. The horse knows the road very well though, and finds its own way up to the fort. The clatter of hooves on the flagstones registers in that deepest part of her brain that is still conscious. Her hands give up their death grip on the horses mane. The ground rushes up to meet her and as the guards fall to their knees to pick her up she manages one last utterance.

"Get Zevran."

* * *

The first thing she is aware of is the crackling of a fire. Her body feels weak, and her stomach hurts, sensation has returned in full. Her eyes struggle open and she moans slightly. As her bleary vision clears she sees Loghain rising from a chair and coming towards her from across the room.

She sits up shakily and props herself up against the bedroll. "I thought our reunion would be more romantic. "

He shakes his head and gathers her to his chest. He says nothing, but strokes her hair with his hand, rocking her against his chest gently. His arms are warm and comforting around her and she relaxes into his embrace.

When they pull apart she realizes that Zevran is standing in the doorway. "Don't worry, you'll feel better by tomorrow. You won't miss all the action my dear," he says.

"Careless of me to be caught out like that, I feel quite embarrassed," she says.

Zevran moves to a table on the far side of the room and pours out a drink. "A Crow and a mercenary. There is no shame in being taken down by a Crow, especially when you got the better of them in the end. They must have been waiting days for this opportunity. " He hands the drink to her. "This will help neutralize the remaining toxins. You should try to eat something soon."

She nurses the drink for a while, before taking a tentative sip. "I overheard a few words," she says, relating what the men had said.

Loghain's expression darkens. He stands, as he always does when he has something serious to say. He looks at Zevran, "It sounds like Howe's work, but I need to be sure." The elf nods, almost imperceptibly, and then he is gone.

Loghain sits down on the bed, kicks his boots off and stretches his legs out next to hers. His arm wraps around her shoulder and he pulls her in to rest her head on his chest. She lays like that for a while, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her.

"I've _missed you_ Loghain," she says.

His hand traces her cheek. "And I've missed _you_ , " he replies, his voice soft and low.

His admission, so quietly spoken, brings tears to her eyes. She wraps her fingers up around the back of his neck, tangling her fingers into his hair.

He swallows hard before he continues. "I have done so many… _questionable_ things. Can you love a man like that?"

"I can," she says. "I do. "

He pulls her in close again. His mouth presses up against her ear and he whispers, " I've been dead for thirty years, and now I am alive again. I _love you_. "

She gasps, it has been so long coming that she is almost startled by it. She feels a flush of warmth and tightens her arms around him.

"And I _will_ fight alongside you, Alistair be damned," he says.

"No," she says. "No." But she feels too weak to argue with him.

He lies against her back, arms around her, pulling her into his chest. Despite her best effort to stay awake, her thoughts wander in and out of focus and her eyelids feel heavy. When her pattern of breathing betrays her slumber, Loghain gently disentangles himself. He places one guard inside the room and two more at the door before he leaves.

* * *

Loghain takes Zevran to his audience chamber and they close the door behind them. Without a word, the assassin hands him a document, a contract. He reads it and nods. It is as they had suspected.

"Allow me?" says Zevran.

Loghain shakes his head. "I wish to deal with it myself."

"Of course."

For a few moments they both look down at the floor.

"And what of the other matter?" says Zevran.

"I am considering it." Loghain replies.

"You would be well advised to discuss it with her first."

"Perhaps."

As Zevran turns to leave he says, "If I were in your position, it would be an easy choice."

* * *

"You thought I wouldn't find out? You insult my intelligence." Without waiting for an answer Loghain punches Howe in the stomach.

Winded, Howe reels backward, hits the wall and slides to the floor. When he can speak, he protests, "She's derailed all of our plans, convinced you of some _stupidity_ and brought that Theirin bastard back to Denerim. They'll wrest the throne from your _own daughter_ , you idiot. You'd be better off without her."

"You think that is your decision to make, you vile man?" roars Loghain.

And when he draws his blade across Howe's throat he feels no sense of loss and no regret.

* * *

By the evening, Aithne has recovered most of her strength. Zevran has come up to discuss their strategy for when the onslaught begins, but Aithne is anxious to hear about what has transpired and where Loghain has gone.

"Did you find something, he's gone after Howe, I assume?"

Zevran nods quietly.

"Did he at least take some soldiers with him?" she asks.

"Of course," replies Zevran, but he doesn't hold her gaze.

"And what aren't you telling me, Zev?"

He looks uncomfortable as he replies, "There are many things we should discuss; the rest of the group would like you with them at the Arl's estate, for one thing."

Now it is her turn to look uncomfortable.

"Tomorrow," she mutters, sensing no need for qualification.

"Very well, our fearless leader," he smiles.

She cringes inwardly at his endearment. "I was fearless when everything I did was fueled by pain or anger. Now I have something to lose and I find I am _afraid,_ Zevran _._ "

Now he meets her gaze, and while his mouth smiles, his eyes do not. "I envy you," he says, as he turns to leave.

* * *

When Loghain returns his face is flushed and something about him is oddly out of kilter.

"Howe?" she asks.

"It has been dealt with," is all that he replies, pulling impatiently at the straps of his breastplate. He removes his armor with a kind of desperation, as though it is unbearable to wear it for a second longer. His shirt and hair are soaked through with sweat and he is somewhat disheveled.

As he sits down by the fire she notices a tremor to his hands, adding to the general sense of disquiet that she is feeling.

He catches her gaze. "I need something to eat," he says with a sudden urgency, as though he has just realized it.

A servant brings them stew, bread and ale, and they settle in front of the fireplace to eat it. Loghain is quiet, even for him, and it niggles at her that something seems _different_ about him. She studies him suspiciously as he finishes eating and downs a large draft of ale.

He considers her in return before finally speaking. "I am told that the warden who takes down the Archdemon will pay the ultimate price."

"Zevran told you!" She immediately regrets her harsh tone.

"I'm glad he did," and his voice has an edge of accusation because she was not the one to tell him.

She bites her bottom lip before admitting, "I thought that if you knew, it would make our time together unbearably sad."

Her eyes meet his again and there is still _something else._ A thought occurs to her and a cold jolt of fear assails her stomach. She takes his hand and then she knows for sure: the pulse of the taint runs through him, as clear to her as his presence in the room.

"Loghain! " she blanches, dropping his hand and taking a step back. "The _risk! Y_ ou didn't even tell me," and then she stops, because he has kept no more from her than she has kept from him.

Loghain contemplates his trembling hands with fascination, "I don't think I have quite adjusted to the taint yet, I hope that doesn't prove to be a problem."

She feels compelled to ask, although she doesn't want to hear the answer, "Why now?"

"You already know why," he says, his voice heavy with anguish.

"No! No."

He looks at her thoughtfully. "You'd rather die? _Really_?"

She realizes that she is frowning, and rubs the furrow along her brow as if erasing it could somehow make her feel better.

When she looks at him with tear-filled eyes, he takes her in his arms and holds her for a long time. Finally, he says, "It's just my body, a body that I abuse in battle. It can serve us well now. " Then the tone of his voice changes. "I don't just _let_ things happen. If I can stack the odds in my favor then I do."

Aithne shakes her head, "She'll have your _child_."

"I know," he says, quietly.

"And it may not even be _me_ that you save."

He sits down again and runs his hands through his hair. "If I save another warden then perhaps it will be seen as _reparation_ for my perceived crime at Ostagar. Either way, this seems like the only way forward for us." He swallows, "Today I killed a man for trying to take you from me, I'll do whatever it takes."

When she does not respond, he walks over to her and takes her hands in his. He kisses the corners of her eyes before his warm lips find hers, coaxing her mouth open. As he deepens the kiss his whole body starts to tremble and she remembers how much she needed _him_ after her Joining. He pushes her back onto the bed and she pulls him onto her, losing herself in the feel of his skin, his warmth upon her.

Afterwards, as she lies next to him in the darkness, she realizes that she has already made her choice.

In the dim light of morning, all that she wants is for it to be over, and so she says it, those three words that will set in motion a course that can never be undone.

"Go to her."


	14. Brother

_She is beautiful_. Loghain closes the door behind him, his anxiety intertwined with surprise.

She stands, showing no particular reaction to his sudden appearance. "Loghain, I had wondered when we might meet."

He considers whether she might already know about his Joining, but her expression reveals nothing. She gestures towards a chair, but he doesn't want to sit down.

He clears his throat self consciously and looks at her. "I have come to offer you what Alistair and Christian did not. "

He notes a slight widening of her eyes before she responds. "Then there have been developments that I was not aware of."

He starts to remove his gauntlets. "Riordan and I agreed that I should tell Aithne before we told the rest of you, I joined the Grey only yesterday." As he sets aside the pieces of his armor he is aware of Morrigan's appraising gaze upon him. For a second his mind goes blank, and then with a sharp intake of breath, he continues. "However recent it was, I assume that it will be… sufficient."

She raises an eyebrow. "It… _you_ … will be sufficient Loghain."

The sheer force of her presence is disarming and he finds her quite captivating _._ A pang of guilt assails him and he has to reassure himself that he is not required to hate her.

"This is strange for me too, I count Aithne as a friend, and I have precious few of those," she says, as if addressing his unspoken turmoil.

Her voice is steady but he sees a glimmer of anxiety flit momentarily across her face. She takes a deep breath and her guarded exterior is restored.

How unexpected, he has glimpsed something of _himself_ in her.

 _Had we met under different circumstances, we might have gotten along very well_.

He finishes removing the armor, and then his vestments. He is still suffering a slight tremor in his hands from the shock of the taint and is mortified at the thought that she might notice and mistake it for something else. Morrigan pulls a drape across the window, and lets her robe slip to the floor.

Although he wants this strangeness to be over quickly, he finds himself unable to move toward her. He has a pang of fear that he cannot be sufficiently detached to follow through on this. Despite everything he has said to himself to justify this he still feels sick inside.

She crosses the room and takes his hand, pulling him toward the bed. In a quiet voice she says, "I can be anyone you want me to be, Loghain."

And as beautiful as she is, he still closes his eyes.

* * *

The morning is overcast, but warm. The air in the room is oppressively close and Aithne fingers the collar of her robes. Her neck feels decidedly clammy and prickly, but nothing she does seems to help.

Loghain has been gone for almost an hour and she knows that she is wasting time here waiting. It is up to her to tell the rest of the wardens about his Joining but she doesn't want to be in the Arl's estate until the ritual is over. How long could it possibly take? She should go now, but still she waits.

And as she waits the blood starts to pulse more strongly in her veins and the prickling feeling at the back of her neck grows stronger. Her heart sinks.

 _It is time._

The horde is closing in and it is time to fight, but after all of this preparation, suddenly she doesn't feel ready at all. It wasn't meant to be like this, separated from her companions. She doesn't know whether the ritual has been completed and the others don't know about Loghain. This is all happening too soon.

She gasps and sits down. She has to think clearly _._ The other wardens will home in on the Archdemon, all she has to do is the same and she will be reunited with the group. _S_ he takes a deep breath, gathers her staff and runs out into the hallway, toward the main entrance of the fort.

The guards are arming themselves and gathering in the entranceway, their faces confused and incredulous. She tells them to sound the alarm, and a great cacophony of horns fills the air, alerting the soldiers and summoning the allied armies to battle.

Then Ser Cauthrien is there beside her, seeking Loghain. Above the noise and chaos Aithne manages to tell her that Loghain will join them later, that they must defend the city as they had planned. Cauthrien understands her role, and sweeps out of the fort, an army of soldiers behind her.

The first wave of genlocks and hurlocks hit the fort. The guards draw their weapons and engage them, but no amount of planning has prepared them for the shock of numbers and the strength of the beasts. A few hesitant guards stumble uncertainly, casting alarmed glances backward, searching for a safe haven.

Aithne releases a barrage of attacks, cutting down the entire front line of approaching darkspawn. "Stand fast!" she cries. "Stand fast!" Rallied by her show of strength, the guards pick up the fight with a renewed determination.

She hears a heavy beating of wings and looks up. Writhing and screaming in the sky above her, the Archdemon Urthemiel soars back and forth across the fort and then disappears from view. It is worse to have the enemy out of sight, and Aithne runs to the watchtower. The sun is still low in the sky, its light filtering through a thick haze of smoke, casting an eerie yellow pall over Denerim. From that vantage point she can see soldiers pouring toward the city gates to stem the tide of invaders. In the center of the city, darkspawn can be seen running through the streets, putting inhabitants to the sword and homes to the torch. Terrified people are fleeing into the countryside in droves. Shouts and cries and the clashing of weapons come at her from all quarters overlaid by an undulating wail that strikes dread into her heart.

A sickening thump is heard, accompanied by a tremor that shakes the fort. _The roof._ The Archdemon has set down on the roof. Aithne heads for the stairs. As she runs out onto the rooftop it is eerily quiet. Urthemiel is here but is still and facing away from her. Aithne freezes, she has no chance here alone, she needs to wait for reinforcements.

The dragon ignores her for a moment, its head shakes as it discards something that it has been holding in its jaw. It turns to face her as her gaze follows what it has thrown aside: the crumbled body of Riordan lies lifeless on the flagstones. Her head reels, then a wave of pure anger and hatred overwhelm her. Reinforcements or not, this has begun and there is no holding back. She draws on her inner reserves and begins an incantation. Even as she conjures the spell, she hears footsteps behind her as an army of elven archers stream onto the rooftop.

* * *

It is over quickly and Morrigan is up and dressed before Loghain can regain his senses. Despite the circumstances it goes against his deepest instincts to bed a woman and then cut and run. He hesitates, wondering how to make a graceful exit. His sensibilities are spared however, when Morrigan throws his bundle of clothes at him with a hiss, "Hurry, we have to get out there, _it has begun._ "

When she sees that he is getting up, she gives him one last look. "Thank you Loghain," she says earnestly, and then she is gone.

Loghain is careful to don all of his armor, including the helmet, before he sets foot into the hallway. It would not do to be engaged by Alistair at this point and for this reason he has brought a less conspicuous suit than his usual Chevalier armor.

As he leaves the estate, the street ahead of him is a scene of chaos, soldiers on all sides are engaged in the melee and his horse is nowhere to be seen. He starts on foot along the main road up toward the fort. A hurlock drags a woman across his path, pulling her by her hair. Loghain draws his sword and decapitates the beast in a single blow. He pulls the woman to her feet and pushes her backward toward the relative safety of the Arl's estate.

As he stands there in the midst of all the carnage, he feels a pull, a pulse within him. A keening wail fills the air and his blood pulses in response to that. He is new to the taint but its signature is unmistakable. He knows as surely as if he could see it, that the Archdemon is at the fort.

Aithne! She is the only warden at the fort. _Maker, please don't let her take it on alone._

Turning around, he steels himself and forges through the melee, looking neither right nor left at the atrocities around him, but pressing forward toward the fort. As he runs through the burning streets a ragged scream tears through the air ahead of him. His stomach turns but he cannot be distracted, the only end to all of this lies far ahead of him at the fort.

As he closes in on the fort he sees corpses strewn around the entrance; darkspawn, but also men and woman from his forces. In the distance ahead of him he sees Zevran and his heart lifts with relief. If Zevran is here than the others are too. He pushes forward, heading for the stairway to the roof.

* * *

Aithne pulls back, out of Urthemiel's reach, then throws a wave of petrification at the beast. The spell holds him and the archers let loose a volley of arrows. Some archers risk an approach to fire at closer range, but Urthemiel is not held for long and takes out those brave souls with a single blast of destructive power from its breath.

 _This is going to be a battle of attrition._ Aithne sets up a force field around Urthemiel, but again, the spell does not hold for long.

She casts her gaze around in desperation.

 _Where are they?_ Alone, she cannot hold Urthemiel for long enough to bring him down, not even with the elven archers on her side.

Moments later, it is _Morrigan_ who is the first of her companions to reach the roof, sweeping into the melee with spells blazing, buying Aithne time to recover sufficiently to initiate another attack. There is no time for talk or even knowing glances. Morrigan is followed by the Redcliffe knights and Aithne regains a measure of hope.

They settle into a kind of rhythm, Morrigan's spells timed perfectly to complement her own, but she is almost exhausted. All this time she had thought that _she_ would be the warden to take down Urthemiel, but the beast is immune to most of her offensives. They need strong warriors to start dealing some damage, or else the fight will be lost.

Zevran appears before her. Running into the fray, he tilts his head at Aithne, an encouragement that gives her a surge of renewed vigor. Then Alistair and Rafaella appear in front of her, cutting into Urthemiel with a blaze of ferocious strikes. At last, something that the creature cannot throw off so easily.

Just as she starts to think that perhaps they can win this fight, Urthemiel lets out a long wail, loud and jarringly discordant. It is only minutes before the call is answered, and the roof is flooded with a new wave of darkspawn.

In desperation Aithne moves in, trying to get close enough to deal the Archdemon some damage with her short-range spells. But it senses her, whipping its tail around for a ferocious strike. It catches her across the forehead and the world goes black.

* * *

Fighting hard in heavy armor is exhausting and Loghain is already suffocatingly hot. Darkspawn bar his path up the stairwell. He dispatches one after another but every time he stops to catch his breath a new wave of enemies appear before him.

Trying to make progress up the stairs he is fighting at a disadvantage, his upward sword strokes sap more of his strength than fighting on the level, and there is little room to properly swing his weapon. Blows reign down upon his head until white spots flash before his eyes. A flail hits his head and somehow cuts him, despite the helmet. He feels a trickle of blood run from his brow, stinging his eyes. Just as the roaring in his temples starts to feel unbearable, a wave of dwarven soldiers appear at his back and by sheer force of numbers they break through the ranks of darkspawn and pour out onto the roof.

The scene that meets his eyes is one of absolute carnage. Most of the elven archers have been slain and their bodies lie among those of the fallen darkspawn. Roiling plumes of smoke drift across the rooftop, compromising his view of the scene. He sees flashes of things through the haze: Alistair, laying into the Archdemon with a vengeance, Morrigan, set back from the melee, holding off hordes of darkspawn single handedly, Riordan, staring upwards with lifeless eyes and Aithne, crumpled on the ground before Urthemiel.

His heart stops. He moves toward Aithne's prone form, and then everything happens in a rush. Alistair strikes Urthemiel. The beast falters and falls but then an ogre sweeps in, grabbing Alistair away. Zevran jumps on the back of the ogre but it does not easily let go of its hold.

Loghain takes it all in. Urthemiel is stunned, but a flicker of motion in its tail betrays that it still lives. Everything inside of him screams out to run to Aithne, but he cannot. He has the advantage and it may not come again. He is too much the general to let this chance pass. He has to strike now, for the sake of all of them.

Muscles screaming in agony, he raises his sword again, sets his sight on the Archdemon and runs forward, drawing his blade across its belly and finally, finally plunging the sword into the back of its neck. In one last burst of strength the beast tries to throw him off, whipping its tail around to strike him. The tip of it catches his arm and he feels something snap, but he is a powerful man with an iron will and years of training behind him. He puts all of his strength and weight behind the pommel and sinks it into the beast.

He feels a great heat, and there are dancing spots before his eyes. Shards of imagery fly at him, piercing his thoughts: an image of Aithne as a frightened child, the last time he saw his father and Rowan, her hand extended toward him. His stomach lurches and he tightens his grip on the hilt, sinking the blade in further. He feels the life force of Urthemiel leave the body below him, and then he sees Morrigan, her face in rapture as a white light enfolds her.

 _It is over._

At first he cannot let go of the sword, it is as though his hands are melded onto the hilt. He tries to calm himself, relax the muscles and manages to prise his hands from the weapon, but he cannot straighten his fingers. Searing pain shoots through his left arm, fractured, he thinks.

The blood from his head wound is stinging his eyes again and he wrenches the helmet from his head with his good arm. He wants to wipe his eyes but he cannot get the gauntlets off to do so. Through the bloody haze, he spots Aithne again, and runs to her. He falls to his knees beside her, trying to raise her head onto his knee but his hands and his arm are so badly damaged that he cannot. Then a woman is there beside them. He looks up and he recognizes her from Ostagar, a senior mage from the circle, he should know her name but in all of his chaotic thoughts he cannot remember it now.

She regards him coldly but moves her hands slightly and a warm light bathes Aithne, who stirs. He looks into her eyes and she smiles weakly at him. Inside, a part of him is weeping with relief, but years of emotional suppression have shaped his responses, and on the surface he betrays nothing.

Aithne is confused and casts her gaze to the smoldering corpse of Urthemiel. Then she realizes that somehow, it is finally over.

He tries to help her to her feet and it is then that she sees how his hands are twisted and locked. She fumbles with one gauntlet, releasing his hand from the armor and taking it in hers, concern clouding her face. Loghain gasps as she takes his hand, relief cutting through his pain. She smiles back at him, and then she sees something over his shoulder and her expression changes to one of horror.

With a sudden shock, Loghain feels an arm around his neck and then he is dragged backwards roughly and forced to his knees. He feels the cold edge of steel against his neck. Of course. _Alistair._

Loghain has nothing left, no strength, no weapon and he couldn't even wield one if he had it. There is something he should say, but the blood roars in his temples once again and the scene before him starts to spin.

Alistair lets forth a stream of expletives, specific to Loghain and laden with hate. Loghain remembers the loss of his own father and he _understands._

He lifts his neck to look into the eyes of his beloved, just to see her one last time. Her eyes are wide with horror. He sees everything at once in her: the little girl trying to be brave; the woman who loved him unreservedly and the warden who risked her life for the cause. In loving her, he has truly lived again.

* * *

Aithne stands and faces Alistair. She takes it all in, as first Wynne, then Rafaella and Amaury stand behind Alistair. She casts her gaze around and sure enough, Kyran appears at his masters side; that was to be expected. Alistair locks gazes with her, as if waiting for her to show her hand. Then he also turns to see who else might be with him. Out of the haze Christian appears, moving to stand behind Alistair, and then Sten.

 _Seven._

And then there is Zevran. Limping forth, he surveys the scene. He looks at Christian, their eyes meet and Zevran shakes his head slightly. He stands with Aithne, defiant in the face of the odds.

 _Two._

As to the rest of the party, only Morrigan had made it to the roof, and she is long gone.

Seven against two. Aithne looks at Zevran… " _your man, without reservation" …_ never a truer word was spoken. She will never forget this.

Alistair's jaw sets in determination and he pulls back the blade.

"No! " She says. "You can't."

Alistair snorts with derision.

"No Alistair. Loghain is one of us, a Grey Warden. You cannot kill one of our own."

"You _lie_ ," he says, incredulous.

She shakes her head slightly. "You already know it is the truth."

He can surely feel it, the taint in Loghain's veins speaks to the truth of her words and he _will_ feel it.

Then she sees the moment that he knows it, the moment the disgust registers on his face.

Zevran's voice cuts in, clear and strong. "Loghain dealt the death blow to Urthemiel. If you question how he survived, you already know the answer to that too. His sacrifice has been great. His reparation is complete, is it not, Alistair? "

Alistair's arm tightens around Loghain's neck. He is shaking with anger. His mouth close to Loghain's ear he says, "I will hate you forever. I will _never_ call you brother."

He releases Loghain, who falls to the ground. Alistair places his foot on the back of Loghain's neck and presses down. He locks eyes with Aithne again. Then he turns, re-sheaths his weapon and is gone. The others leave with him. Only Aithne, Loghain and Zevran are left amidst all of the death and destruction.

They pull Loghain to his feet and the three of them start toward the stairwell.

"And now?" asks Zevran.

"And now we find a way to live with the consequences of our success," replies Aithne.


End file.
